The Chrismukkah Carol
by beakanoma
Summary: When Ryan's life has led him down a dark path, can a Chrismukkah miracle save him from a fate worse than death? SPOILERS through Season 3, SLASH SethRyan, OC version of Christmas Carol
1. The Ghost

**Title:** The Chrismukkah Carol  
**Author:** kevo  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing related to The O.C. and its characters, or A Christmas Carol and its themes. And I'd be very happy if they didn't sue me, because I don't have much to take. This fic is strictly for non-profit enjoyment.  
**Pairing:** Seth/Ryan  
**Rating:** PG-13. Ish. For language, some adult themes.  
**Spoilers:** Most of this was developed a month and a half before Season Four even started, and I don't really feel like factoring it into my story, so only up to the end of Season Three.  
**Summary:** Ryan has gone down a dark path; can a Chrismukkah miracle help him get his life back on track?  
**Warnings:** AU after 3x25 "The Graduates"  
**Author's Note:** This fic is the result of the bizarre urge to listen to Christmas music in the early fall, and a persistent drive write OC slash fic. My gift for the holidays. Special thanks to my mei-mei and anyone else that I forced to beta this story. Enjoy, all, and Merry Chrismukkah. 

The Chrismukkah Carol

- First Verse -

–

"The Ghost"

--- 

**M**arissa was dead, to begin with.

There was no doubt about that. Ryan, more than anyone else, knew this. He was there when it happened. He held her as her body slowly went limp, then placed her gently on the pavement and called the paramedics. He knelt beside her until they arrived, and nodded dumbly when they told him there was nothing he could have done. Marissa Cooper was dead.

It is important to make this information distinctly understood, or else there is nothing remarkable about the story that follows. Therefore it must be repeated again, emphatically, that Marissa was dead.

On the particular evening this story begins, Ryan Atwood was working late. This was not that usual in itself. Ryan was known as something of a workaholic. He always took his lunches at his desk. When his co-workers would go out for drinks, Ryan would stay behind to get a jump start on the next day's workload. He came in early, and stayed late. It was his way.

The thing that made this night different from all the rest was that this night was Christmas Eve.

No one really knew why Ryan was so anti-social. He'd just always been that way. Ever since he first started at the Newport Group, and even before then when he'd make an appearance with his adoptive parents, the owners of the company. It's not that Ryan was difficult to work with or went out of his way to be rude. There was simply a line, a very solid, very real line between his professional and personal lives, and no one in his professional life was ever given a glimpse of his personal one. He was incredibly secretive when it came to things like that. Solitary. It was something people had come to accept over the past two and a half years he'd been working there.

In light of Ryan's absence of affability, most people at the Newport Group avoided coming near his office unless they had business to discuss. This didn't bother Ryan one bit. He'd always hated small talk anyway. Being the night before a holiday, most others had already left for the day, which meant he had little fear of being forced to converse with any passersby. Ryan could work alone, in silence, which was just how he liked it.

Ryan was deeply engrossed in a report regarding the company's latest housing development when, unexpectedly, a gentle knock sounded at his office door.

"Come in," Ryan called out without looking up from the report.

The door opened and Kirsten Cohen appeared. She was dressed in a stylish but simple black dress. In her hand she held a red envelope.

"Hey, Ryan," Kirsten said softly.

"Kirsten," Ryan replied. "Hi. What's up?"

He placed the sheet down on his desk. Kirsten was one of the few people in the company that Ryan was remotely warm with. In a grasping attempt to make polite conversation, Ryan asked, "Shouldn't you home, getting ready for, uh, for Chrismukkah?"

Chrismukkah. Ryan hadn't said that word, or even so much as thought about it, in a long while. The synergistic holiday's title felt awkward and clumsy coming out of his mouth now, like he was saying something in a foreign language. He hoped it wasn't obvious to Kirsten. If it was, her face didn't show it.

"I'm heading out now," she told him. "There were just a few things that needed taking care of here first." Kirsten moved closer to Ryan's desk. "Shouldn't you be getting home, too? It's late."

"I just have a few more reports to go over," Ryan said, gesturing at the pages on his desk.

"You need to give yourself a break, Ryan," Kirsten lightly scolded. "It's the holidays. The work will be there when you get back."

"Nah, I'd feel guilty just leaving it all here," Ryan responded.

Hoping they were done, Ryan reached for another report and pretended to read it. Knowing they weren't really done, he braced himself. Waited for Kirsten to say it. What she always said. After a brief pause, she finally did.

"Ryan, come to dinner tomorrow night," Kirsten pleaded. "You haven't been to the house in so long."

Ryan glanced up from his work.

"I'd like to Kirsten," he lied. "I really would, but, I, uh, I have plans already." Pause. "A date." Longer pause. "With a woman. We've been seeing each other for a little while now and I promised I'd take her out tomorrow. Otherwise…"

"Well, you could bring her," Kirsten suggested. "I know that might sound a little uncomfortable, given, well, everything that's happened, but it's Chrismukkah. You should be with your family."

"I don't think that'd be such a good idea," Ryan said sheepishly. "I don't want her to get the wrong idea, bringing her to meet my, uhm… you guys."

"I see," Kirsten said.

Even though she didn't see.

They did this dance every year. There were a few subtle changes here and there, claims of dinner reservations or a short ski trip instead of a date, but the gist was always the same: Kirsten invited, Ryan declined, they both went their separate ways.

"Well, I'll leave you to your work," Kirsten said following a long silence. She dropped the red envelope on Ryan's desk before uttering a quick, "Merry Chrismukkah, Ryan," and exiting his office in a hurry.

Ryan lifted the envelope, turned it over in his hands.

He wanted to call after Kirsten. He wanted to stop her, to tell her that there was no date, that he would love to come to dinner, that he missed her, and Sandy, and … and Seth.

But he didn't.

Instead, he shoved the red envelope into his briefcase, turned back to his report, and kept working.

CCCCCCC

Much later, what could have been hours for all he knew, Ryan gave up on getting anything more done in the office. At least, that's what he chose to believe, rather than acknowledge that he'd been all but kicked out by the night janitor.

He drove the familiar route to his apartment building, surprised by the lack of traffic for Christmas Eve.

Out of nowhere, angry static began blaring over the car's speakers. Under the static, a slow, mournful tune was playing. Ryan strained to hear what it was.

"_Let's dance in style, let's dance for a while, heaven can wait, we're only watching the skies…._"

Ryan looked quickly at the stereo. It wasn't even on. Yet somehow that wasn't preventing the song from playing. He hit the power button. Nothing happened. He hit it twice more, with more force, but that did nothing. Frustrated, Ryan pulled over to the shoulder so he could try and figure out what was going on. He pressed the On button again, and again nothing happened. He tried all of the radio preset buttons, the volume, hitting the button for the CD player. Still nothing.

"_Forever young, I want to be forever young…. Do you really want to live forever…?_"

Fed up, and not wanting to hear any more of that song, Ryan finally yanked the keys out of the ignition. The noise stopped. Ryan rubbed his mouth nervously. What **was** that? He made a mental note to take it to get looked at the next morning. Then he remembered that the next day was Christmas, and that everywhere would most likely be closed.

"Fucking holidays," he muttered.

Breathing heavily, Ryan turned the car back on and glanced in the rear view mirror to check for traffic.

Marissa Cooper stared back at him from the back seat.

Immediately Ryan whirled around in his seat to look in the back. It was empty. He searched frantically, even checked the floor, as though she might have been hiding there. Which was ridiculous. She couldn't be in the car at all, let alone hiding on the floor.

It was the song, he determined. It just brought up some old memories and he **thought** he saw Marissa sitting in the back seat but she wasn't. That was all.

Checking again for traffic, Ryan pulled out onto the road and drove.

CCCCCCC

After leaving his car in the parking garage, Ryan walked swiftly to the front door of his apartment building. It was astoundingly cold, even for December. Waiting at the entrance was Otis, the doorman.

Otis was a portly man with graying hair in his mid-fifties. There was always a smile plastered across his face, rain or shine, all year round. Normally Ryan didn't think too much about it, but after encounter with Kirsten and his spook on the ride home he wasn't in the mood to be around someone in such good spirits.

"Good evening, Mr. Atwood," Otis said, brimming with cheer. "Happy holidays!"

"Yeah, not really," Ryan mumbled.

He didn't mean to be heard, but he was. Otis clamped a large hand on Ryan's shoulder. This gesture was not entirely welcome and, had Ryan been in a different kind of bad mood, may have been met with a more violent reaction.

"Aw, c'mon," Otis prodded. "You can't seriously mean that."

"Why not?" Ryan snapped, brushing the man's hand off him. "What reason do I have to be happy?"

"What reason do you have to be miserable?" the doorman countered simply.

Glaring angrily, Ryan brushed past Otis and headed into the lobby. He dimly realized that he was taking his problems out on the wrong person, but at the moment he didn't really care. The overzealous doorman had triggered something in Ryan. He was already in a cantankerous mood to begin with, he didn't need someone to beat him over the head with Christmas merriment.

Upon entering the lobby, Ryan was greeted with something he'd never heard in the oppressively overheated foyer: singing. Ryan searched around for its source and saw a small boy sitting on the floor near the entrance. The first thing Ryan noticed about him was his skinny frame, skinner than Ryan saw on most boys his age, which Ryan approximated to be eight or nine. His clothes were disheveled and either too big or too small. The newest-looking thing the boy wore was a thick woolen hat, covering most of his dirty blond hair. Dirty in both senses of the word, as his hair, face, and clothes were all a little grimy. In his hand was a small object, what looked like a Christmas tree ornament of a rocking horse. Ryan didn't recall seeing him around the building, but then if the kid did live somewhere in the building he wouldn't be sitting in the lobby looking like that. He didn't seem to notice that Ryan had entered.

The boy sang softly, almost inaudibly:

"_You better watch out, you better not cry, you better not pout, I'm tellin' you why: Santa Claus is coming to town…_"

Ryan looked around curiously. They were the only two in the lobby, with Otis standing just outside the door. No one else was around.

_Where the hell are this kids parents?_ he wondered.

But Ryan knew better than that. Dirty young kid sitting alone huddled in the foyer of an apartment building on Christmas Eve? Of course Ryan knew better than to think someone was responsible for him. He tried to pretend he didn't, though. As hard as he could he tried.

"Hey, kid," Ryan said gruffly. "What're you doing here?"

Startled out of his song, the boy looked up at Ryan.

"I'm waiting for my dad," he said. He eyes slid nervously to exit, like he was calculating how long it would take him to bolt if he needed to. "He-he said he was gonna go get us somefin' to eat." The boy pointed to Otis through the glass doors and said anxiously, "He said it was okay if I wait here."

"All right," Ryan said, nodding like he believed him. "I'm just going to go ask him if he knows when your dad will be back, okay?"

The child's eyes bulged slightly. He nodded mutely. Ryan stepped outside and stood casually beside Otis.

"You let that kid in?" he asked.

"I did," Otis replied daringly. As though he expected Ryan to object to this decision, to ask Otis to kick to kid out.

"He said he's waiting for his dad," Ryan continued, "to get something to eat."

Otis sighed, then shook his head. "I didn't see a dad," he told Ryan. "Kid told me he was waiting for his mom to pick him up. I knew he was lying, but…"

Ryan nodded and let Otis leave his sentence unfinished. He knew the kid was lying, but didn't have the heart to keep him out. Knew he was lying but couldn't let him stay outside on this cold December night.

Searching for the pack of cigarettes he made a habit of always carrying, Ryan pulled one out and lit it, taking a long, soothing drag. He'd quit smoking twice in his life: when he first moved in with the Cohens, and after he took them up again when Marissa died. Ryan knew he probably wouldn't be able to quit a third time. It helped that he had no reason to.

"What do you think we should do?" Otis asked. "Y'know, about the kid."

Ryan shrugged. "Leave him," he recommended. "He'll clear out eventually.

"Shouldn't we call someone?" Otis posed. "He's probably all alone."

"He's better off that way," Ryan muttered.

Taking one last puff, Ryan tossed the cigarette and stubbed it out with the toe of his shoe. He gave Otis a quick formal nod then headed back inside. The boy was still sitting there on the floor. He looked up at Ryan apprehensively.

"You're not gonna make me leave, are you?" he asked quietly. Ryan shook his head in response. Sitting up a little straighter, the kid ventured, "You got any, uh, any change or anything? I wanted to, uhm, make a phone call."

It would have been so easy, Ryan realized, to say yes. To extend a helping hand to this small child who may not have anyone else. To let him in.

Again Ryan shook his head. No, he didn't have any change. Fourteen seconds later he was on the elevator and headed up to his apartment. Alone.

CCCCCCC

Ryan entered his apartment, not bothering to put on the light. He liked being in the dark He didn't know why. It was the sort of thing his shrink probably would've made Ryan analyze if he hadn't stopped going.

The apartment was sparsely decorated, with only the essential furniture; a couch, a TV, a table with two chairs, though only one was ever put to use. Everything was a plain, sterile shade of white. There used to be more; more furniture, more color, more life. But that was when Ryan had a roommate, and someone to share that more with. This, the way it was now, was more than Ryan needed. It did the job, kept a roof over his head. Gave him some place to go at the end of the night.

Ryan dropped his briefcase and crossed quickly over to the kitchen. He was about to open the refrigerator when something attached to the front caught his eye. It was the first Chrismukkah card he had ever posed for with the Cohens. The four of them sitting in front of the fireplace, under their neatly hung personalized stockings. Sandy with his arms around Kirsten. Seth and Ryan seated next to one another, their legs just barely touching.

"The hell?" Ryan grunted. He snatched it off the door.

How had that gotten there? Ryan certainly didn't put it up. He didn't even realize he still had it. He figured he'd tossed it with everything else when he went through his bad relationship memory purging period. Yet here it was, staring him in the face like a grim reminder of a past he'd all but forgotten. Ryan considered crumpling the thing up, but instead he simply dropped it on the counter. Face down.

He yanked the refrigerator open and pulled out the bottle of vodka that was waiting there with two more of its kind.

CCCCCCC

Some time later, Ryan stumbled into his bedroom, carelessly discarding his jacket and tie. His bottle fell to the floor, landing with a soft thud on the carpet. He'd gotten through the better part of it. Or maybe he finished it, he couldn't quite remember. Ryan kicked off his shoes and crashed onto the bed. He was fully prepared to pass out and sleep straight through Christmas.

Suddenly, in the shadows, he heard something. It was the familiar sound of alcohol sloshing around in a bottle. He'd heard it so often before, it was as easy to recognize as his own voice. The part of him that never truly let his guard down, the part that remembered his roots in Chino, would never forget, froze.

"Who's there?" Ryan asked hoarsely.

He rapidly felt very sober, at least mentally. Physically he was still a little sluggish. He only hoped that wouldn't become a problem should he need to defend himself.

"No one," a voice answered sadly.

The voice. It was female. Familiar. Ryan felt it with ever fiber of his being. But the very idea, that it was…. No. Couldn't be. It was crazy. Ludicrous! It couldn't possibly be her. It was the booze and the damn holiday spirit playing tricks with his head.

"Yeah, right, no one," Ryan scoffed. He peered into the darkened side of the room, trying to discern who he was talking to. "Did one of my buddies at the office send you over? Try and give me a little Christmas cheer? Tell 'em thanks but no thanks."

A harsh chuckle.

"Oh, Ryan," the voice said with barely contained glee. "You don't have any friends."

She spoke with such absolute certainty that Ryan shivered. He swallowed, hard.

"And I'm not a prostitute," she added. "But I am here for you."

"How do you know my name?" Ryan barked. His eyes darted around the darkened room for something to use as a weapon in case he needed it. "What do you want?"

"Much," the woman answered plainly.

After a long pause to contemplate what that could possibly mean, Ryan asked, "Wh-who are you?" He barely even noticed the tremble in his own voice.

"Ask me who I was," came the reply.

For a full minute, he couldn't. His jaw was clenched, throat dry, and both unable to form words, much less the one he didn't dare to speak. Then, finally, in a voice barely louder than the muffled sounds of traffic streaming in through the closed door of his balcony, Ryan forced the name out.

"Marissa…?"

Again Ryan heard the sloshing, accompanied by the soft, soft sound of footsteps drawing slowly nearer.

"In life, I was," she concurred.

A delicate, bare foot stepped into a patch of light streaming in through the balcony's sliding glass door. The leg followed, then another. A tall, thin frame appeared in the moonlight, a woman. A woman Ryan recognized.

She was wearing a flowing white dress that billowed in a breeze Ryan couldn't feel. It was similar to the one in which she was buried, but slightly graying with age and worn ragged from use. She looked pale, cold, beautiful, bored, all at the same time. And there was something new about her, as well. An air of innocence, something she had lost long ago, that she was barely still clinging to when Ryan met her. It made her look like a little girl, swinging a half empty bottle of vodka instead of a teddy bear.

Then, in the same way, the same **exact** way, that Ryan had heard her say it more than a hundred times in the few short years he had known her, Marissa smiled and said, "Hey, Ryan."

Ryan, terrified by his dead ex-girlfriend's appearance in his room, scrambled backward on his bed. Even after he managed to reach the headboard, it took a few moments before he could form coherent words.

"Y-you're dead!" he screamed at her. "You're **dead**! I held you while you died! I was there when they buried you!"

"I know! I know you were," Marissa said soothingly. She moved toward him but Ryan recoiled in terror. Marissa frowned. "I'm not here to frighten you, Ryan."

"You're **not** here!" Ryan insisted. "You **can't** be here! It's not possible." He looked across the room, at his own discarded bottle of vodka. "I'm drunk," he said. "I got drunk and I passed out and this is all just some fucked up Christmas nightmare."

"And were you drunk this evening when you saw me in the rear view mirror of your car?" Marissa asked. "Was I some Christmas nightmare then as well?"

Ryan considered this.

"Besides," Marissa continued, "I used to drink too much all the time, I never saw dead people."

Despite himself, Ryan smiled a little. He knew Marissa was dead, he knew it, more than anything else in his life. But this … this specter, this apparition, was so like her, it made that fact easy to forget. Marissa smiled too, bright and beautiful, and it was like she had never died at all. She was the same sunny girl he remembered from the day they graduated high school.

Except she wasn't. If that Marissa had been the sun, golden and bright and happy, then this Marissa was the moon, pale and dark and sad. Beautiful, still, but in a more somber way.

"W…what are you doing here?" Ryan asked shakily.

"I'm here to help you, Ryan," Marissa said.

Her tone was soothing, like she was trying to calm a frightened or dangerous animal. That made Ryan the animal, and he didn't like being coddled like that.

"Help me with what?" he bristled. "I don't need any help. I'm fine."

"I think we both can agree that I've seen enough self-destructive behavior first-hand to know that you aren't," Marissa disputed. "Remember our first Christmas together?"

Ryan nodded. How could he forget his first Christmas in Newport? The shoplifting, the drunken misadventure, the Newpsie party, the introduction to Chrismukkah; it was nothing if not memorable.

"So, what, you're my guardian angel?" Ryan scoffed.

"Do I strike you as the angelic type?" Marissa grinned. "It's not like that, not exactly. Although, in a way, I have been watching over you."

"Really," Ryan frowned. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of Marissa Cooper hovering over him without his knowledge. There were many things he'd done since her death that he really did not want her to see.

The concern must have shown on his face, or perhaps she had some otherworldly power to read his thoughts, because Marissa then asked, rather archly, "Worried about what I might have seen you doing?" Then, more knowingly, she added, "Or maybe you're worried about me seeing who you've done it **with**."

Standing angrily from the bed, Ryan stepped a few passes away from her and said, "If you're just here to make fun of me, you can go now."

"I'm not," Marissa insisted.

"Then why are you here?"

"I'm here to warn you," Marissa said. "Listen closely. Bad things are waiting for you on the other side, Ryan. Very bad things."

"What!?" Ryan cried in disbelief. "Why? What did I ever do?"

"It's what you didn't do," she said firmly.

There was something in Marissa's ghostly face that made Ryan shiver, like she could see right through him. The statement was final, and Ryan knew there was no prying any further details out of her.

"I don't want to know this," Ryan said. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I'm telling you this to try and save you," she explained. "There's still hope for you, that you can change and avoid this terrible fate."

It was a strange post-mortem role-reversal, Marissa coming to save Ryan. He had tried to save her so many times in life and now here she was trying to help him in death. Ryan would have smiled at the thought if it wasn't so morbid.

"Well, what do I have to do?"

"You will be visited tonight," Marissa told him, "by three Spirits."

Ryan blinked at her.

"Do I have to?" he asked. "Can't I just try and be a better person?"

Marissa shook her head. "You're too far gone, Ryan. Saying you'll try harder isn't good enough. Without being shown the error of your ways, you may never change."

"You don't know that," Ryan said defensively.

"I know **you**," Marissa teased, despite the grim situation. "You're stubborn, and set in your ways. But your ways have to change, Ryan. If they don't…."

She let the implication speak for itself.

Ryan sank back onto the bed. His head was spinning, and not from the alcohol lingering in his system. He barely believed this was even real and now, if it wasn't in fact a drunken nightmare, he was being asked to subject himself to more? Or he would be facing a fate worse than death? This couldn't be real.

But it was.

Neither of them spoke for a long time. Ryan knew he should say something, have some sort of answer for her, but "I don't know what to say," was all he could muster.

"I have to go soon," Marissa said, rising suddenly.

"No, don't!" Ryan pleaded, raising a hand as if to make a futile attempt at grabbing her and holding here there with him. As much as she terrified him earlier, Ryan hated to see his old friend, his former love, leave again. "Please, wait."

"I can't," she said. "I don't even know how I'm here now." She smiled sadly. "I've walked beside you so many times before, Ryan. It's just tonight that you can see me."

"I'm glad I did," he told her, only realizing after he said it that it was true.

Marissa touched Ryan's cheek gently. Her hand was like ice, but Ryan forced himself not to brush it away.

"You've never had it easy, Ryan," she said without any trace of pity. Then, as though only just realizing to do so, she asked tentatively, "Do you think you could do me one favor?"

"Anything," Ryan vowed.

"The next time you see Summer, could you give her a hug?" Marissa asked. "You don't have to say it's from me. Just, I miss her sometimes."

"In a junior year, lesbian flirtation kind of way?" Ryan asked playfully.

"No, nothing like that," Marissa replied. "We aren't all in love with our best friends."

That shut Ryan up. Ryan looked into Marissa's eyes.

"Do I have to do this?" he asked meekly.

"No," Marissa admitted. "You have a choice." She paused to let that settle, then continued, "But I think you should. And I know that if you do, it will help things get better. You deserve to be happy, Ryan." With a meaningful look, she added, "No matter **whom** it's with."

The perceptiveness of Marissa's observations was becoming overwhelming for Ryan. He looked away from her, first down at his fidgeting fingers, then toward the balcony and the bright star-filled sky.

"I'll do it," Ryan said, quiet but with conviction.

He turned back to Marissa, to see her reaction to his decision, but she was gone.

Ryan was alone again in his bedroom. He lay back on the bed. With a sigh, he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

_Nothing to do now,_ he thought, _but wait._

**END NOTES:** So I was listening to my Christmas Carol soundtrack one afternoon, in September (I know, right? So random!), thinking about The OC and how I hadn't written a fic for it in a while, when suddenly the two began to merge in my head. The more I thought about it, the more it intrigued me. Eventually I heard the iconic words of the opening lines become, "Marissa was dead, to begin with." When I thought about how Marissa had just died in canon, it felt perfect. So I've been working on it ever since.  
I've studied nearly every different version of A Christmas Carol I could get my hands on, including episodes of TV shows using the story as the basis for a Christmas episode. (By the way: the original? Is pretty boring. If you want to hear the story, watch the Muppet version; it's the most accurate depiction, if you overlook the Muppets and the singing, and is certainly more entertaining.) If you already know the story, I hope you'll notice the little parallels I've drawn here and can take delight in them. Some are pretty overt, but some are incredibly subtle.  
Another little note that I'm sure no one will get, so I want to mention it here: Marissa saying "I never saw dead people" is in fact a reference to Mischa Barton being the little girl from The Sixth Sense.

Now, on to the first ghost!-kevo


	2. The Past

**Title:** The Chrismukkah Carol  
**Author:** kevo  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing related to The O.C. and its characters, or A Christmas Carol and its themes. And I'd be very happy if they didn't sue me, because I don't have much to take. This fic is strictly for non-profit enjoyment.  
**Pairing:** Seth/Ryan  
**Rating:** PG-13. Ish. For language, some adult themes.  
**Spoilers:** Only up to the end of Season Three.  
**Summary:** Ryan has gone down a dark path; can a Chrismukkah miracle help him get his life back on track?  
**Warnings:** AU after 3x25 "The Graduates", some angst.  
**Author's Note:** Here's part two! Special thanks to my co, D'Arcy, and my mei-mei for being awesome beta readers. In the midsts of everyone's stress over holiday shopping and final exams and whatnot, I hope you can use this story as a nice little Chrismukkah-y escape from reality. 

The Chrismukkah Carol

- Second Verse -

–

"The Past"

--- 

**S**ome time later, Ryan regained wakefulness.

He didn't really remember falling asleep, so he couldn't be sure how long he was out. The events of his day slowly came back to him: Kirsten talking to him in his office, the homeless kid in the lobby of his apartment building, and, most importantly, his encounter with Marissa Cooper's ghost.

He was still having trouble wrapping his mind around the last bit, especially now that he had obviously woken up from a deep sleep. Could the whole thing have been just a dream like he first suspected? It was the simplest explanation, much simpler than being visited by his dead ex-girlfriend. Simpler than being told he would encounter three more spirits, or else suffer some terrible, unexplained fate.

And yet, he'd felt Marissa's cold touch on his cheek. It felt **real**. Could his mind have invented something so convincing, so vivid?

Little by little, Ryan noticed that the room beyond his closed eyes was beginning to brighten. Was it sunrise? Had Ryan actually slept through the whole night? If that case, it must have been a dream, because Marissa had told him the other spirits would be coming that night. Surprisingly, Ryan was a little disappointed. Sure, it was a little disturbing to see her like that, all pale and ethereal, but it was also kind of nice. Just to see her again. To know she was watching over him.

"So much for that whole guardian angel thing," he mumbled.

Ryan sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He stretched, opened his eyes, and then froze mid-yawn as he saw the source of the golden glow he had perceived. It was not coming from the rising sun outside but from a very different source inside.

It was a young woman. But it wasn't a woman so much as it was a child, a small girl. And an old lady. All of these things. The woman changed from one to another like a hologram that shifts depending how the light hits it, yet somehow was all of them at once as well. She was familiar, too. Ryan recognized her girlish smile and dark, expressive eyes.

"Theresa?" Ryan gaped.

It **was** Theresa, in every sense of the figure. There was no way Ryan could ever mistake the girl he'd known his whole childhood. She was wearing an elegant, pure white gown and gloves to match. When she seemed as a little girl, they reminded Ryan of the way she had looked when taking her first communion. Like an angel. He recalled telling her that before the ceremony and the way she blushed.

She was beautiful, radiant even. Literally. The white gown was so bright that it seemed to shine. In fact, Theresa herself appeared to be giving of faint glow, like her skin was lighted from within. It was then that Ryan saw the sheer bright jet of light that sprang from her crown.

"Hey, Ry," the strange version of his former friend said with a smile. "I believe you were expecting me."

Ryan stared, baffled. Then it dawned on him: "Are you the first spirit?"

"I am," she answered. Her voice had an oddly echoic quality that Ryan could feel in every molecule of his body.

"But… how?" Ryan choked out with some effort. "Theresa's not dead." He paled. "Is she?"

"Of course not," the spirit assured him. "The real Theresa Diaz is alive and well. I am merely assuming her form, though slightly altered. We thought you might handle this whole ordeal better if we appeared as more familiar faces."

"I'd rather not handle this ordeal at all," Ryan grumbled. "So what are you supposed to be anyway?"

"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past."

Ryan stared.

"No, seriously," he urged. The spirit merely shrugged. She was serious. "The whole past?" Ryan wondered.

"Just yours," Spirit Theresa smiled.

Looking at the spirit was beginning to hurt. Ryan tried turning his stare away, shielding her from his view, but nothing worked. His eyes started watering profusely.

"Can you maybe put out your head or something?" he requested.

"You would snuff out my light so quickly, without any thought of the consequences?" Spirit Theresa demanded with a sudden and unexpected anger. "It's not bad enough that you've ignored it for so long already? Your eyes will adjust to the brightness when **you** stop resisting it."

The words left Ryan temporarily speechless. He had no idea what they meant, but she said them with enough vehemence that he didn't dare question them. He eyed this effulgent apparition skeptically.

"So what exactly brings you here?" Ryan asked bluntly. "And I mean you, specifically. Into my bedroom, into my world, into my life. What did you come here for?"

"Your welfare," the spirit answered.

"My welfare," he scoffed, "I'd be better off if you let me sleep."

"Your salvation, then," Spirit Theresa tried instead.

For this, Ryan had no response. That word, salvation, suddenly reminded him of Marissa's warning from earlier. As difficult as this situation was for him, he truly believed Marissa, believed she was trying to help him. And she said this was what he needed to do.

_So stop fighting it, you jackass,_ he ordered himself.

"All right then," Ryan said. "What do we do?"

The spirit gestured toward the glass doors of the balcony, which then slid open. An icy breeze rushed in, flapping the curtains as it sailed through the room. Spirit Theresa looked at him with her ubiquitous smile.

"Come on," she said. "Let's go for a walk."

She headed toward the open balcony. Ryan, feeling slightly foolish for some reason, pointed out, "Uh, I can't fly."

"I'm aware," the spirit retorted. "Take my hand."

Ryan did. Warmth spread from her hand into Ryan's body. He no longer felt the night's coldness. As they moved toward the balcony, a bright light appeared on the horizon, drawing nearer and nearer to them.

"What's that light up ahead?" Ryan asked.

"It is the past," Spirit Theresa replied.

The light grew larger until it took up Ryan's entire field of vision. When it finally dimmed, they were no longer on Ryan's balcony, but someplace completely different.

It was daytime, and they were near a squat, grayish building. A school. They stood in the playground area. Concrete and metal, not the woodchips and plastic kind. Old and worn, with the paint chipping off the equipment. Ryan knew this place. He knew it well.

"Our school," he murmured. "This is our old school."

"That's right," Spirit Theresa said.

Sitting side by side on two chain-link swings were a much, much younger Ryan and Theresa. They smiled at each other and swung. And sang.

"_He sees you when you're sleeping,_" they crooned. "_He knows when you're awake. He knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake._"

The older Ryan, the current Ryan, stared, agape, stunned into silence. He had been expecting something like this, of course. The spirit did call herself the Ghost of Christmas Past. He just didn't expect it to be so real. Everything was exactly as he remembered it, if not even more vivid. Ryan could smell the pavement, still wet from a late December rainstorm earlier that day, and feel the slight chill in the air. He turned to Spirit Theresa. She was smiling motherly at the scene before them.

"What is this?" Ryan asked her. "Where are we?"

"The past," she stated. "How many times do I have to tell you?"

"Can they see us?"

Spirit Theresa shook her head, making the light from her head shimmer dazzlingly through her hair. "These are but shadows of the things that have been," she explained. "They have no awareness of us."

"Why are we here, spirit?" Ryan wondered. "Why have we come to this day?"

"You have a beautiful voice, Ryan," Spirit Theresa told him, eyes set upon the children playing. "But you never sing anymore." After a pause to let her statement settle, the spirit looked at Ryan. "Do you remember this Christmas?"

Before Ryan could answer, he was interrupted by a shout from the younger Theresa.

"Ryyy-aaan," she said. "What do you want for Christmas?"

The much earlier version of Ryan planted his feet on the blacktop, forcing his swinging to an abrupt stop. His longish dark blond hair fell over his eyes.

"You know what I want," he mumbled. "I want my dad to come home."

Young Theresa looked sadly at her friend.

"He took off three days before Thanksgiving," Ryan said, more to himself than his spirit companion. "Without so much as a word, he disappeared. Mom didn't get out of bed for a week." A lump formed in his throat. He attempted to swallow around it.

"Something wrong?" the spirit asked.

"No, nothing," Ryan responded quickly. "I just… met a boy earlier this evening. I only wish I had been a little nicer to him."

Across the playground, from behind the swing set, the kids' brothers Arturo and Trey entered the premises. They laughed and shoved and bandied about like the adolescent boys that they were. There was a spark of youthful exuberance in Trey that he never lost, Ryan thought, no matter how old he got.

"Hey, Theresa," Arturo called. "We gotta go, Ma's waitin'."

"Bye, Ryan," Theresa said, hopping off of her swing. "Merry Christmas."

Young Ryan grunted in response. Unbeknownst to him, Trey was sneaking up covertly from behind. Without warning he descended upon his little brother, tickling him mercilessly. Ryan watched his younger self twist around on his swing.

"Trey, stop it!" the small boy squealed.

"Come on, baby brother," Trey said, relenting his attack. "We've gotta head home, too."

Little Ryan frowned. "I don't wanna go home," he muttered.

"No, no, Ryan, it's great," Trey told him, smiling brightly. "Dad's back!"

"He is?!" Ryan yelped, slipping awkwardly from his swing. "Since when?"

"He just got back!" Trey said. "And he's got presents! Come on, let's go, they're waiting for us!"

The Atwood brothers tore out of the playground, arms hung across each others' shoulders, brimming with cheer.

"You two seem pretty happy," Spirit Theresa observed.

"Yeah, and why shouldn't we?" Ryan asked bitterly. "Our dad was back, it was a Christmas miracle. That is until the cops showed up looking for him and confiscated all our presents because they were bought with stolen money. After they took Dad off, Mom just drank herself to sleep."

"If there's drinking, crying, and cops, then it must be Christmas," the spirit mused. "Right, Ryan?"

"I've seen enough," Ryan snapped. "Can I move on to the next spirit now?"

"You haven't seen anything yet," Spirit Theresa contradicted. "Perhaps you would prefer to see happier times."

She took Ryan's hand and hauled him forward. The world around them blurred. Ryan could feel himself being wrenched through the years.

When the whirling, swirling pull finally stopped, Ryan found himself in very familiar surroundings. The place he lived and slept and worked for most of high school and beyond.

The pool house. Where a Ryan ten years younger than the current one was sitting on the bed. A young Seth was sitting on the chair in front of him. They were discussing Marissa Cooper's earlier catastrophe with shoplifting.

"Ehh, it's that time of year, and," the younger Ryan was saying, pausing to take a deep breath, "with everything that's going on with her family…."

"Yeah, no, I know," Seth concurred. "I'm sure it's gotta be hard for her."

"Yeah," Ryan said softly. "I just wish there was something … I could do, or say."

"Did we really used to think Marissa shoplifting was such a major crisis?" the current Ryan wondered aloud over his former self's discourse. It seemed incredibly silly in retrospect, but he supposed they had little basis for comparison at the time.

Meanwhile, in the scene from Ryan's past still playing out, Seth stared at the younger Ryan apprehensively. Ryan looked back and shrugged. A brief but awkward silence fell over them. Naturally, Seth was the one of them to break it.

"Um, oh!" he cried out. "I got you something." Seth twisted around to grab something red lying behind him on the chair.

"No no no n-no n-n-no," Ryan said immediately. "We had an agreement."

"Yeah, but this is different," Seth told him, turning back. "This is a requirement."

In his hands was a large red Christmas stocking with white fur trimming at the top. Written vertically in bold white capital letters was Ryan's name. On the toe there were three small snowflakes. Seth passed the sock to Ryan.

"I know it's a bit minty," Seth permitted. "But, uh… y'know, we all have one, so we just thought…." He shrugged, looking nervously between Ryan and the stocking.

"Nah, it's cool," Ryan assured him evenly.

"Well, good," Seth said, starting to rise. "Maybe it'll meet a kinder fate than your wreath did, but if not, we still wanted you to have it."

Barely able to tear his eyes from Seth's present, Ryan told him, "Thanks," with a slight smile on his lips.

"All right," Seth said. Turning and heading out of the pool house, he continued, "Well, I'm gonna go make magic happen. I feel like my hair's working for me tonight."

Ryan looked up at last to watch Seth go, then back at his stocking.

"I take it you remember this?" Spirit Theresa asked.

The question startled the older Ryan from his thoughts. He'd been so fixated on the moment that was playing out before them that Ryan almost forgot they were merely visitors there.

"Of course," he replied, voice choking slightly.

"This was the closest you came to enjoying a Christmas in five years," the spirit remarked. "And it was thanks, in most part, to Seth's constant gestures, like this one.

"But then Seth had been doing things like this, making friendly overtures, since the moment you two met, hadn't he?" she continued knowingly, like a wise old woman. "He was the only person you ever met in Newport Beach who made you feel truly welcome. Who didn't look at you with the slightest bit of difference after finding out where you were from, or why you were there. The morning you were supposed to go back to Chino he hugged you goodbye, after knowing you for only a day. When was the last time someone hugged you like that before then? And when you wanted to go on the run, he immediately jumped at the chance to join you. He'd known you less than a week, Ryan."

"He was a good kid," Ryan said fondly, still watching his former self holding his new stocking tenderly.

"I think he was more than that," Spirit Theresa said knowingly. "From the day he met you, you were Seth's world. And that scared you, because he meant something to you, as well. So you ignored it. For as long as you could. But you couldn't ignore it forever, could you?"

Before he could say in response, the spirit grasped his hand and again Ryan felt that tug as they moved forward through the years.

The feeling lasted longer this time. When they came to a halt, they were in another setting Ryan found familiar. This one he had seen much more recently; that very day in fact. It was one of the conference rooms at the Newport Group. The room was dark. A younger, but much more recent, version of Ryan was leaning against the table, alone.

Just outside, the sounds of a mild gathering could be heard. It was the Newport Group's "holiday" party. Called a holiday party only to be PC, as most of the people working there were WASPs.

All of a sudden, the door opened a crack. A shaft of light pierced the darkness, silhouetting a skinny frame with a curly head of hair.

"Ryan?" a voice called gently.

"Seth, why are you whispering?"

Seth thought about this for a moment, and answered, "I don't know." He then entered the conference room and closed the door. "Hey, buddy," he said. "I was looking for you out there. You disappeared on me somewhere between the mushroom-leek crescent and the crab and brie phyllo."

"Well, you know me and Newport parties," the brooding man replied. "I haven't felt so uncomfortable at one of these since my bar mitz-vahkkah. People keep talking to me about my starting here after graduation."

"Ah, yes," Seth mused. "Ryan Atwood and talking aren't so much bosom buddies, are they?"

"Seth, don't say 'bosom'," Ryan said automatically.

"Yeah, that didn't really come out the way I intended it to," Seth granted. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm not really getting a warm reception around here either."

"That might be because you burned the old office down," Ryan commented.

"**Accidentally** burned it down," Seth corrected. "And we're not talking about me, for once, we're talking about you. You need to get out there. Shouldn't you be, like, making connections or something?"

"Your mom owns the company," Ryan pointed out. "What other connections do I need?"

"Uh, well, there's the whole social component," Seth proposed, taking a few steps closer. "I know you're not big into the whole socialization thing, and obviously you're not going to meet anyone as awesome as me –"

"Obviously."

"It goes without saying. However," Seth continued, "you should at least make an effort. We're graduating from college, going out into the real world, and this is just what grown-ups do. Otherwise you're going to be sitting alone in your office all day. And nobody wants to be **that** guy."

"What if the other kids are mean to me?" Ryan whined, in a petulant manner that was more like Seth than it was himself.

Taking another step closer to Ryan, Seth placed his hands on the man's shoulders and said soothingly, "They won't be. You're totally awesome, man. You're smart, and you're actually funny sometimes. It's rare, but it happens. And I'll be right there next to you, like a security blanket, only slightly less fluffy. United we're unstoppable, remember?"

Ryan smiled. Seth had said the same thing to him during his downward spiral after Marissa's death. It was the night Ryan quit smoking for the second time. He nodded.

"They're gonna love you, dude," Seth promised. "Just like I do."

There was something in Seth's eyes when he said that. Something about the way Seth looked at him shifted in that moment. And something about the way Ryan saw Seth as well. Without thinking, without hesitating, he leaned in quickly and kissed Seth. The taller man put up no resistance except a small _hmpf!_ in surprise. A split second later he was returning the kiss with twice as much vigor. As soon as Ryan's thoughts caught up with his actions he pulled back.

"We can't—" he began.

"Can't stop?" Seth supplied rapidly. "I agree completely."

And in a flash his lips were back on Ryan's. He was acting with an assertiveness that Ryan rarely saw and, God help him, he found it overpowering. Seth's hands had traveled from his shoulders up Ryan's neck to cup his face. Ryan grabbed fistfuls of the back of Seth's jacket. When Seth's tongue darted between his lips, Ryan couldn't help returning the gesture. Eagerly.

No matter how exhilarating kissing Seth was, Ryan couldn't ignore the tiny voice in the back of his head screaming at him that this was wrong. At the very least, because they were in the middle of the Newport Group building, surrounded by its employees. Both reluctantly and gladly, he pulled back again, though not far.

"Oh, God, Seth," Ryan murmured into the other man's lips. He was panting ever so slightly. "What the hell are we doing?"

"Jesus and Moses do I not know," Seth replied, sounding just as amazed.

Ryan moved away, completely out of Seth's embrace. If he didn't, Ryan knew he would just end up kissing him again. He needed to not be doing that right now. He needed to think. He began pacing tightly. He rubbed the back of his neck, where Seth's hands had so recently been, looking lost. After a few swift turns, he looked at Seth.

"So," he said awkwardly, "are you…?"

"No," Seth said quickly. "Except that, yeah, probably. It's a very distinct possibility. I mean, I don't have any conclusive evidence on that front, or anything, except to say that Capture the Flag isn't the only thing I learned how to do at Camp Takaho. I've liked.. some guys, over the years, but I've never really done anything about it. Until now, that is."

"That explains all the Kavalier and Clay references," Ryan opined.

"Actually, no, I just think it's an awesome book," Seth demurred. "Plus only one of them is gay," he added with a grin. Only Ryan didn't smile back. Seth hesitated, then asked, "So, are you…?'

"No," Ryan said, even more quickly than Seth.

"Except…?" Seth said leadingly.

Only Ryan didn't follow. "We should probably get back to the party," he said faintly instead.

"What?" Seth said. "Ryan, wait –"

Before Seth could put up too much of an argument, Ryan bolted out the door. Seth lingered behind, collapsing into one of the chairs around the conference table.

"Stupid," he muttered to the empty room. Seth's head fell into his hands. "Stupid, stupid, stupid…"

Something in the older Ryan, the one still standing in the conference room with the spirit, stirred. He'd never seen this, Seth's reaction to his mad dash. He only knew his side, how he rushed to the nearest bartender and ordered a seven and seven, then spent the rest of the night avoiding the man he'd just kissed.

"Feeling guilty?" Spirit Theresa asked. "After the party you didn't speak to Seth for months. You ducked his calls, ignored his e-mails. But Seth was as persistent as ever. He wore you down and, soon after you both graduated from college, you were dating. But you still couldn't surrender yourself completely. You insisted that your relationship be kept a secret. And it was. For a time."

The image of Seth sitting alone at the table faded and became something entirely different. They were at the Cohen residence, in the pool house. It was slightly different from when Ryan used to live there, fewer personal belongings. On the bed, a slightly older Seth and Ryan from the last two were making out zealously. The current Ryan glanced at the spirit beside him.

"You know," he said, "it's a little awkward to keep watching myself make out with someone while you're standing next to me."

"I've seen a lot more than this, Ryan," she informed him, smirking suggestively like the Theresa he knew from Chino.

Not wanting to think about what Spirit Theresa meant by that, Ryan instead turned his focus on the men embracing on the bed. It was no less awkward watching it himself. He was relieved when his younger self pulled away.

"Are you sure this is such a good idea?" he asked as he tried to keep Seth away from his lips long enough to speak. Which was no easy thing to do.

"Don't worry about it," Seth reassured him, placing soft kisses on the other man's chin. "Mom's busy with the cooking. You know how she feels about the ham. Now that she's all empty nest, it's like the closest thing she's got to another kid."

"That was a really weird analogy," Ryan remarked with an odd look.

"Well, I can't help it if there isn't enough blood reaching my brain right now," Seth replied.

"Is that supposed to be my fault?"

"I won't hold it against you if you keep kissing me," Seth said. "Like, as in **right now**."

Ryan grinned. "It is the season for giving."

"That's the Chrismukkah spirit!" Seth said gleefully.

He ducked his head to meet Seth's lips with his own. His hands wandered under Seth's sweater, causing him to smile and moan slightly into Ryan's mouth.

The older Ryan remembered that moment. And his heart sped up as he remembered what would come next. His eyes darted to the pool house door. A thin shadow appeared on the curtain there. Without warning, the door opened, and there stood Kirsten. Ryan never saw her initial reaction, being so occupied the first time he lived through it. Now he could witness firsthand her shock and embarrassment. She was clearly more embarrassed than surprised, which made Ryan wonder if he and Seth weren't a little too careless about keeping their secret.

"Oh!" Kirsten squeaked.

The younger Ryan and Seth flew apart mid-kiss, scrambling to opposite sides of the bed. Kirsten smiled sheepishly and looked away.

"Uh, I just wanted to let you know that dinner will be ready in ten minutes," she notified them. "In case you wanted to wash up or, uhm, fix your shirts."

She was nearly laughing as she said the last part, and quickly set off back to the main house, being sure to close the door behind her.

The men stared after her. Seth was, of course, the first to speak.

"Did my mom just catch us making out?" he asked with a lopsided grin.

Ryan, on the other hand, was not taking their discovery so flippantly. He was pale, and looked very much like he was about to throw up. Seeing Ryan's distress, Seth moved closer and placed a hand on his back.

"Hey, chill, man," Seth said. "It'll be okay."

"How will it be okay, Seth?" Ryan growled. "Your mom just saw us – oh, God."

Seth rose from the bed and held his hand out to Ryan.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go."

"I can't go in there," Ryan said quietly.

"You can't stay out here forever," Seth argued.

Still looking terrified, Ryan met Seth's comforting gaze. Without a word or a nod or any sort of indication that he was reassured, he took Seth's hand and let himself be led out of the pool house. The older Ryan and Spirit Theresa followed them into the kitchen, where Sandy and Kirsten were talking across the island counter. They looked up when the young men entered. Ryan tried to separate his hand from Seth's but Seth held fast, with a firmer grasp than Ryan knew he could manage.

Silence descended upon the four of them.

"So," Sandy said after a while. "I hear Kirsten caught the two of you in a compromising position."

Seth blushed. Ryan paled. Sandy chuckled a little at their uncomfortable reactions. Kirsten smacked her husband lightly on the arm.

"Sandy!" she hissed. Kirsten turned to the boys, her eyes full of light and love. "Ignore him, please. I'm sorry for not knocking, I just – I wasn't really expecting **that**."

"Now you know how I've felt every time I walked in on the two of you mackin' it," Seth replied.

"Well, this is an odd way for you to take your revenge," Sandy said.

"How long have you two…?" Kirsten let the question go unfinished, as she wasn't sure how to qualify what she'd just seen.

Ryan answered, "About six months."

"Have you two thought about what you're doing?" Sandy asked. His expression had turned slightly more somber. "I mean **really** thought about it?"

"No, Dad, haven't really given it much thought at all," Seth said dryly. "Why? Do you think we should?"

"Hey, cut it out," Sandy snapped. "This is serious business here."

"Sandy –" Kirsten began.

"No, they need to hear this," Sandy said. "You need to be careful with something like this. If you two aren't serious about it, then the whole thing could turn out badly, for all of us."

"We are serious," Ryan said.

The older Ryan watched himself in that moment. He remembered it so distinctly. He didn't even realize that he was going to say it until the words escaped his lips. He remembered the way his heart was thundering in his chest. He remembered returning the tight squeeze Seth was giving his hand.

Sandy studied Ryan's face. There was something in it that seemed to satisfy whatever need Sandy had. He broke out into a smile.

"In that case," he said, gesturing widely, "this calls for celebration."

Kirsten came forward and kissed both of her boys on the cheek.

"A Chrismukkah to remember," she said.

Then she and Sandy took their seats at the dinner table. After sharing a look, which for Seth clearly said _'I told you so, dude'_, the newly outed couple approached the table, hand in hand. The knot in Ryan's chest came loose. He smiled an honest smile as he looked at Sandy and Kirsten watching them fondly.

It was the start of something new. It was the start of something wonderful.

As the family began their meal, and Kirsten confessed that they'd already had her suspicions considering the men shared an apartment but only had one bedroom, Spirit Theresa stepped forward. For the first time, Ryan noticed a long, heavy hood on the back of her dress. It was so black that it almost matched her hair, which was probably why he didn't notice it already. She took in the scene before them with rapt delight.

"Truly a lovely night," she said. "You had a family who loved you. You had Seth. What more could you ever need?"

"Yes," Ryan said vaguely. "What indeed."

The picture before them dimmed and swirled. As Ryan expected it would. He knew what was coming next. It was obvious. He looked around the dark Newport Group conference room, no different than it was two years ago. No different than it was earlier that day in the current Ryan's own time.

The door opened and another Seth and Ryan, a year older than the last two they'd seen, entered. Seth was smiling goofily. Ryan wasn't.

"Oh, God," Ryan whimpered, knowing exactly what he was about to witness. "Not this."

"You remember this moment?" the spirit asked him.

Ryan blinked against tears.

"I do."

"This looks awfully familiar," Seth was babbling. "Did you drag me in here for a little trip down memory lane?"

He tried wrapping his arms around the younger Ryan but was not having any of Seth's advances. He looked positively livid.

"What the hell was that, Seth?"

Seth looked confused. "What was what?" he asked.

"You just almost kissed me in front of everyone out there," Ryan fumed. "People could've seen."

"It was an accident," Seth said defensively. Then, more calmly he added, "And so what if they did? What's the big deal?"

Ryan sighed angrily and began pacing. The same way he did the night they first kissed.

"What!" Seth cried. "What's the big deal? Mom and Dad know. Summer knows. Does it really matter if the rest of Newport does?"

"It's bad enough that Kirsten owns the company I work for," Ryan said. "But then if I'm dating her son? My adopted brother? It's just, it's too much. I don't want to be so singled out. I'm still getting my feet wet here."

"Dude, you've been around this company for eight years," Seth replied. "I'd say your feet are properly moist at this point."

"Don't make jokes right now, Seth," Ryan barked.

"I wasn't joking, Ryan," Seth shot back, just as fierce. "We've been in this relationship for a year and a half and you won't even hold my hand in public. I know you're a private guy, but come on! I feel like it's a giant secret or something, like you're ashamed of me."

"You know that's not true," Ryan said weakly.

"Do I?" Seth asked. "I'm not saying I want you to make out with me on top of the copy machine but is it so much to ask to dance with my boyfriend at a Christmas party?"

Ryan stopped pacing. He couldn't meet Seth's eyes, so instead he stared at the man's shoes.

"You're not ready, whatever," Seth said, reading Ryan's mind. "I get it. But how much longer do you expect me to wait?"

"I don't expect you to wait at all."

The words were spoken quietly, but firmly. Ryan blinked twice, as though he'd just heard the words for himself at the same time as Seth. Like the night he'd told Sandy that they were serious about their relationship, he didn't even know the words were there until they were out. Seth stared. His mouth gaped open for a minute, then closed, and set grimly.

"I see," he said. "So is that it?"

"What else do you want from me Seth?" Ryan asked. "You know who I am."

"Yeah," Seth replied. "I do."

There was something in Seth's voice as he spoke. Something new, a deflated quality that Seth so rarely possessed. He was done fighting and, seeing that, so was Ryan. No more words passed between them. None were needed. Seth backed away, and left the room. Ryan stayed, and stood, alone.

"Idiot!" the older Ryan raged.

He crossed to his former self and gave the man he was a hard shove. However, the blow never made contact. Instead, the older Ryan's arms went straight through his younger form. This only spurred his anger on further. Ryan swatted at the intangible shadow of a man, swung over and over again, with no consequence. And no outlet for his frustration.

"You moron!" he bellowed at himself. "Go after him! **Go after him!**"

"Ryan, stop it!" the spirit shouted. "Stop it!"

Ryan stopped. He collapsed against the conference table, tears streaming down his face, his body shaking with sobs.

"Spirit, please," Ryan begged. "No more. I can't take any more."

"There is still one shadow left for you to see," Spirit Theresa told him.

She reached out her hand. Ryan ducked, pulled back, tried to avoid the spirit's touch, to no avail. The spirit grabbed hold of Ryan's shoulder and they were off again, sailing through time. When they finally came to a stop, they had arrived at a café. Ryan didn't recognize this place.

"Where are we?" Ryan demanded. "Why are we here?"

Spirit Theresa did not answer. She didn't even acknowledge the question. Her stare was fixed on a spot over Ryan's shoulder. He turned to see what she was looking at. There, in a far corner of the shop, sat a man hunched over a coffee mug. His head was so low that Ryan couldn't see the man's face. Only his curly mess of brown hair.

"Seth," Ryan breathed. Unable to look away from him, but desperate to know, Ryan tried again: "Where are we?"

"Last December," the spirit answered. "It took Seth a whole year before to move on after you, Ryan."

"Move on?" Ryan asked. "What do you…?"

Then, before he could even finish the question, he saw. Another man, short, well-built, blond, approached Seth's table. Ryan and the spirit were on the opposite side of the loud, crowded coffee house but he could hear every word that was said as clear as if they were sitting at the table with them.

"Hey," the man said.

Seth looked up, startled.

"Hi."

"Mind if I sit?" the man asked. "Everywhere else is taken." He gestured around at the rest of the café, which indeed was full.

"Uh, sure," Seth said.

The man sat and held out his hand. Seth shook it.

"I'm Chris," he said.

Seth gave his name as well. An awkward silence followed. Seth's discomfort was etched clearly on his face. He wasn't used to being approached by strangers in coffee bars.

"You know, I've seen you here before." Chris told him. Seth had no answer for this except a tense, polite smile, so the man tried again. "Got any big plans for Christmas?"

"I'm not really feeling the Christmas spirit," Seth admitted. "My, uh… my boyfriend sort of dumped me last year around Christmas. That kinda ruins the holiday, y'know?" He looked nervously at the other man. "If you wanna leave now, it's okay. I can understand you not wanting to share a table with a big 'mo."

Chris laughed. "Trust me, I don't mind," he assured Seth. "And don't worry about that guy. I'd say his loss is my incredible gain."

Seth's eyebrows raised at this comment. Then he smiled coyly. Ryan shut his eyes, but the image was already there, in his mind, and he couldn't erase it now.

"Seth brought him to the Newport Group Christmas party," Spirit Theresa whispered in Ryan's ear. "They danced together. Chris loves to dance."

"ENOUGH!" Ryan screamed. He whirled around, outraged, and glared at the spirit. "I'm sick of this! Sick of you! What, do you get off on torturing me like this!?"

"I told you, Ryan," the spirit answered calmly, "that these are the shadows of the things that have been. They are what they are, do not blame me."

"Well, I'm done," Ryan shouted. "Done with the past, done with this whole thing. And I'm especially done with you. Now take me home!"

"No!" Spirit Theresa said angrily. "You're never going to learn anything if you keep hiding from the past!"

"I said take me home!"

Suddenly, Ryan sprang at the spirit. He grabbed her and shook her violently. The world around them became a hurricane of images from Ryan's past. He saw the morning he lost his first tooth, the afternoon he got his first kiss, and the evening he was given his first black eye from one of his mother's many boyfriends. The spirit was equally affected by her and Ryan's struggle. Her countenance changed, shifting seamlessly from one person in Ryan's history to the next without any discernable pattern. One minute she was his mother, then Summer Roberts. She was his eighth grade gym teacher, Kirsten, Kaitlin Cooper, Caleb Nichol, his father, Arturo, Sandy, Trey. Seth. Then he saw it again, on the back of her dress; the hood.

In a blinding flash of revelation, Ryan knew what he had to do. As the spirit turned once more into Theresa, Ryan grabbed the hood and pulled it over her head, cutting off the stream of light from her head. It dimmed, but didn't completely go out, so Ryan kept pulling. He yanked and tugged and wrenched until the hood had completely covered the spirit's body.

All at once, the tornado of images ceased. Spirit Theresa was gone. She was gone, and Ryan was exactly where she'd found him, lying across his own bed, in his own dark apartment.

He sat up quickly. A little too quickly. His head was spinning. Perhaps it was a side-effect of jumping through time. Ryan didn't know. And the Spirit was gone, so he couldn't ask her.

Slowly, cautiously, Ryan stood. He moved across the room as though he was afraid the floor would crumble beneath him and he would fall, helpless. He walked as confidently as he could manage down the hall to the bathroom, managing to stumble only three or four times.

Once there, he fell on his knees in front of the toilet, hard, and promptly threw up.

**END NOTES:** And that's part two. This is, so far, my second favorite part, after part five.  
I hope some of you are seeing parallels between this fic and the original! I studied A Christmas Carol far closer than I would like to admit for this fic. And I hope you like my next choice for character stand-in for a ghost. I've never written for this character before, and never quite imagined myself doing so, so I'm looking forward to doing it.  
Another note - the character of Chris is based ever so slightly on Chris Carmack, if only for his Aryan good looks and, let's face it, slight resemblance to Ben McKenzie. the idea is that Seth has a type, and that type is Ryan.  
Now, on to the second ghost!-kevo


	3. The Present

**Title:** The Chrismukkah Carol  
**Author:** kevo  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing related to The O.C. and its characters, or A Christmas Carol and its themes. And I'd be very happy if they didn't sue me, because I don't have much to take. This fic is strictly for non-profit enjoyment.  
**Pairing:** Seth/Ryan  
**Rating:** PG-13. Ish. For language, some adult themes.  
**Spoilers:** Only up to the end of Season Three.  
**Summary:** Ryan has gone down a dark path; can a Chrismukkah miracle help him get his life back on track?  
**Warnings:** AU after 3x25 "The Graduates", implied physical abuse and implied sexual abuse of a minor.  
**Author's Note:** Beta'd as ever by the incomparable D'Arcy. 

The Chrismukkah Carol

- Third Verse -

–

"The Present"

--- 

**R**yan sat on the floor of his bathroom, clutching the toilet for support. He pressed his forehead against the smooth, cool porcelain of the toilet tank and breathed heavy, shuddering breaths.

So far tonight Ryan had seen two former girlfriends; one he'd lost touch with many years ago and one who was very much dead. One was a ghost, and one was a spirit merely taking on the woman's form.

This was not how he had planned on spending Christmas Eve.

His head was spinning, but whether that was from his ghostly encounters or from the bottle of Vodka swimming through him, he wasn't sure. If the ghost of Marissa Cooper was to be believed, he should expect two more spirits before the night was through.

This was too much for Ryan to handle. His head throbbed, and his stomach churned. He'd just thrown up twice and, if he'd put anything in his system in the last few hours other than alcohol he was sure he could easily throw up once more.

It was bad enough that the first spirit visitor had taken the vastly altered form of his estranged friend from Chino. That had brought up a whole host of emotions in Ryan by itself. But to have to relive his more-than-friends-or-brothers relationship with Seth was brutal. He saw the entire year and a half they were together condensed into a Cliff's Notes from Hell. True, it was to avoid a horrible fate somewhere beyond the grave. Yet somehow he wondered what fate could be worse than reliving his most painful, most shameful memories.

"You can do this," Ryan coached himself softly. "You can do this, you can do this, you can do this."

It became a chant, a mantra he hoped would encourage him to get up off the floor and go back into his bedroom to wait for the next spirit. It wasn't working very well.

"Do it for Marissa," Ryan said more confidently.

That did the trick.

Rising on shaky legs, Ryan stood. He brushed his pants off even though there was no dirt to be found on his bathroom floor. He flushed the toilet and watched his sickness swirl down the drain. Then, slowly, so as not to set off his still-tender stomach, he headed back to his room. Ryan still wasn't quite ready for whatever came next, but he would go through whatever trials were required of him.

A soft, warm light was shining from his bedroom. It wasn't pure and unwavering like that of the Ghost of Christmas Past. It was more golden and flickering. Like candlelight, or a fire.

_Fire!_

The word set off alarm bells in Ryan's head. He raced back to his bedroom, wondering what horrors this night could possibly be unleashing upon him now. He was ready for ghosts. He wasn't prepared to have his apartment burned down. Charging into his bedroom, Ryan found that the place was not on fire. The light was coming from the hundred candles set up around his room, and the roaring flames cackling in the fire place.

Except Ryan didn't have a fireplace.

Standing in the doorway, Ryan assessed the whole room. It had undergone an extreme and miraculous transformation in the time he'd been in the bathroom. There were garlands and ivy strung up and around the walls and ceiling. In the corner where his desk should be was a magnificent and large Christmas tree, decorated with brightly shining ornaments and dazzling lights. Atop the tree was a shimmering blue star that looked just as real as any in the night sky. Below the tree were dozens of different gifts of all shapes and sizes, each wrapped in unique and colorful wrapping paper. Where his bed once stood was now an enormous table of roughly the same size. Laid out on this table was an opulent feast of more foods than Ryan could begin to name; turkeys and hams and fruits and puddings. The meal could have fed a hundred people for a hundred days and still have some left over.

And there, in the middle of it all, was Taylor Townsend.

_This answers the horrors question,_ Ryan thought moodily.

She wore a simple green robe with white fur edges, wrapped around her like an elegant dress. Around her neck was a string of her omnipresent pearls. On her head she wore a holly wreath, complete with berries, set in place by a few icicles here and there. She was holding a blazing torch set in the shape of a cornucopia. The flame inside was burning white hot.

"Hello, Ryan!" this vision of Taylor greeted him gleefully.

"What happened to my room?" he asked, marveling at his barren, sterile bedroom's startling transformation.

Spirit Taylor shrugged.

"Just a little Christmas cheer," she said brightly. She waved at him to come closer. "Come in, and know me better, man."

"Let me guess," he said as he tentatively crossed the threshold of his room. "You must be –"

"The Ghost of Christmas Present," Spirit Taylor filled in proudly. "Present and accounted for. Come in, and know me better, man!"

"Yeah, you said that already," Ryan reminded her.

The spirit blinked. "I did?" she asked. "Oh. You'll have to excuse me. I'm a little muddled."

"Not unlike the real Taylor," Ryan pointed out.

The comment did nothing to dampen Spirit Taylor's enthusiasm. If anything, it only fortified her cheer.

"Oh, Ryan," she chuckled. "You see, as the Ghost of Christmas Present, my mind is filled entirely with the here and now. As a result, I tend to be a little forgetful at times."

"You're one of those people who's always losing her keys, aren't you?"

"Constantly!" the spirit answered, missing the joke entirely. "Which is why I have this." She brandished what appeared to be a PDA, one unlike any Ryan had seen before. It was made from pure gold with buttons that were actually tiny jewels. "This tells me exactly where I need to be, exactly when I need to be there. And guess whose schedule I have programmed in there now!"

"Mine?" Ryan guessed.

"Right you are!" Spirit Taylor squealed. When her answer was met with no amount of zest or interest, she sagged slightly. Only slightly. "What's the matter? You act like you've never met anyone like me before."

"That's because I haven't," Ryan disclosed. The spirit was stunned, so Ryan asked, "Why? Are there many of you?"

"Uh, I only have over two-thousand brothers and sisters," she informed him sternly. After a deep breath, Spirit Taylor put on a brave face and said, "That's okay. No problem. I'm here now, and that's all that matters."

Eyeing the spirit uncertainly, Ryan said, "Right, sure. Look, whatever it is that you're here to show me or teach me, I'm ready, and I'll do my best to learn from it."

Spirit Taylor swelled, smiling brightly. She was about to say something when a loud chime sounded from within her robe. She removed her PDA, which was now glowing faintly. She read the screen and gasped.

"Oh!" she squawked. "Well, it looks like you were just in time. Your first appointment is up. Christmas morning has begun."

Glancing out at the balcony, Ryan saw that the spirit was right. It was morning already. He could have sworn it was night only moments ago, but thought better of questioning it.

"Okay," he said instead. "What do we need to do?"

"Touch my robe," she ordered him. Ryan did. "It's nice, right?"

Ryan glowered at her. "Is there a point to this?" he asked.

"Oh, right," she said.

Instantly, Ryan's bedroom disappeared. They were on the street below Ryan's building. The sidewalk was filling with people coming and going to and from their various destinations. No one seemed to notice Ryan or the robe-clad, torch-wielding spirit, so Ryan assumed they were still invisible. They didn't pass through people like they had in the past, he noticed. Whenever it seemed someone was about to bump into one of them they just … wouldn't. Ryan and Spirit Taylor slipped easily through the packed crowd without touching a single person.

This was not to say that other people didn't run into each other. Whenever someone would bump into someone else, or knock them over, Ryan saw that the spirit's torch would dim slightly. If someone was to help a person along, though, or wish them a happy holiday, the torch burned brighter than ever. Ryan also observed the spirit sprinkling the slightest bit of ash from her torch onto the crowd as they passed through it.

"What is it that you're doing there?" Ryan asked, pointing at the torch, which flared when someone offered the cab they'd just flagged down to a woman with an armful of packages.

"I have obligations other than carting your finely toned behind around, mister," Spirit Taylor enlightened him. She shook some of her incense onto the man who had just given up his cab. "It's my job to spread Christmas cheer. Which is exactly what I'm doing now."

"To everyone?"

"To those who will accept it, yes," she said. "I may be a spirit, but I'm not exactly a miracle worker." Spirit Taylor stopped, and gestured ahead. "Some need it more than most."

Ryan followed the direction of her wave. Standing outside a nearby restaurant looking in through the large window, was the boy Ryan met in his lobby the night before. His lean frame was shaking visibly.

"And how do you justify the things like this?" Ryan asked the spirit.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean things like **this**," he said, motioning toward the small boy, being overlooked by passersby. "Or that!" He pointed at a man who had his packages knocked out of his hands, while the person who bumped into him walked on. "The people who ignore the needy and the helpless around this holiday season, and are instead consumed by greed and jealousy and anger. Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't all of these things being done in the name of the holiday? In the name of Christmas?"

Spirit Taylor stared. She was taken aback by Ryan's slight outburst, but recovered quickly.

"Are you honestly trying to blame me for things like this?" she asked him. "Any number of religious zealots perform unthinkable acts upon others. Yet do you blame God for their actions? Charge them with their own crimes, but don't blame me for things I do not and cannot control."

From inside the spirit's robe, her PDA chimed.

"We have to go," she said. "Robe."

Ryan held onto the robe, taking one last look at the boy before he disappeared. Then they were gone. The street and the people were replaced with someplace very familiar. A place Ryan hadn't been in a long, long time.

The Cohen house.

Somehow it was twilight already, so the spirit must have taken them ahead in time as well. They were in the kitchen. Sandy and Kirsten were standing side by side at the island counter as they prepared Chrismukkah dinner. They were joking and laughing and full of the same love Ryan had always seen in them for the ten years they had been his adopted parents.

"He actually suggested that you smoke the tree?" Kirsten was asking Sandy. "I really don't remember that."

"It's true," Sandy swore. "Your father was surprisingly funny when he wanted to be." His smile sagged slightly as he asked, "How are you doing, hun? I mean, really?"

"Oh, I'm okay," Kirsten assured him. "Enough time has passed by now that I can talk about him without getting depressed at all." She sighed. "Now, Ryan on the other hand… I saw him last night."

"Let me guess," Sandy said. "You invited him over, and he turned you down? **Again**?"

"I don't know what I was expecting," she admitted. "It can't be easy for him to come over here, to see us, and – and Seth. Not after the way their relationship ended. I just … I wish we could all be a family again."

Sandy wrapped his arms around his wife's waist. "These things take time. I'm sure he'll come around eventually." He attempted another smile and said, "And until then, we will just have to enjoy Chrismukkah twice as much for him."

Kirsten smiled a little, and nodded.

"Come on," Spirit Taylor said softly. "Let's go check in on Summer and Seth."

Ryan blanched.

"Seth?"

Without answering, the spirit led the way outside. Slowly, Ryan followed. He hadn't seen Seth since the night the other man moved out of their apartment. That was almost two years ago. He saw Seth briefly during his journey through time with the Ghost of Christmas Past, but was doing his best to repress the image of his ex flirting with another man. To see Seth here, now, as he currently is, seemed as daunting to Ryan as watching their break up. He passed through the doors leading out to the patio.

And there he was.

He was sitting at the table across from Summer. Summer was drinking wine, while Seth had opted for a soda instead. He was never a big fan of alcohol. Ryan couldn't help smiling at the memory of Seth's Beer Face.

"So have you heard from him?" Summer asked.

"Who? Chris?"

Summer rolled her eyes. "Yeah, sure, okay. Have you heard from Chris?"

"I did, actually," Seth said. "He, uh, he wants to get back together.

"Did you tell him to suck it?" Summer inquired.

Seth shrugged. Summer slammed her drink down on the table, hard enough to make a statement, but not so hard as to break the glass.

"You **cannot** get back together with Chris," Summer hissed. "I swear to God, Cohen, I will tell your parents –"

"I'm not eighteen anymore, Summer!" Seth barked. "It's my life!" Then, more quietly, he continued, "He just … he gets these mood swings. He never hurts me. Not on purpose."

"This guy hits Seth?" Ryan growled.

"What do you care?" Spirit Taylor asked. "You made it very clear to Seth years ago that you don't give a flying hoot what happens to him."

"Just because I couldn't be with him doesn't mean I stopped –"

Ryan broke off.

"Stopped what?" the spirit asked. "Stopped loving him? Oh, wait, that's right. You never actually told Seth you loved him. You just couldn't bring yourself to say it. And now look where Seth is: in an abusive relationship with an Abercrombie jackass."

"That's not my –"

But Spirit Taylor shushed him before he could finish. She gestured toward Seth and Summer, who were still talking.

"Clearly you've got a thing for guys with violent streaks," Summer was saying, "but it's another thing entirely when that streak is directed at you."

"You didn't seem to have a problem when it was your violent streak directed at me," Seth pointed out.

"I never fractured your wrist," Summer disputed. "You deserve better, Cohen." She looked down at the counter, pensively. "I wish you would just call him," she said, so softly that Ryan almost missed the words as much as their meaning.

"Dammit, Summer!" Seth cried. "**HE** dumped **ME**, okay!? And if he doesn't even care enough after all these years to show up for Chrismukkah dinner, why should I call him?"

"Because I am your fag hag," Summer explained, "which means that you have to listen to me."

"Yeah, and right now, I'm seeing the emphasis on **hag**," Seth said.

Summer folder her arms across her chest. "You know you still love him."

"That's … not entirely true," Seth responded, fidgeting with his drink. Not meeting Summer's gaze.

"Cohen, when you and Chino broke up you were devastated," Summer reminded him. "You locked yourself in your room and listened to that Kelly Clarkson song 'Because of You', like eight million times."

"I did not listen to Kelly Clarkson!" Seth cried, outraged.

"It was my CD, remember?" Summer said. "And you lost it!"

Seth deflated a bit.

"Look, you're right, okay?" Seth told her. "Ryan … he broke my heart into a thousand, thousand tiny pieces, and that's not really an experience I'm looking to repeat by calling him or seeing him or whatnot."

Summer frowned. "That's fair," she said quietly. "Just promise me you won't take Chris back, okay? Better to have your heart broken than your face."

With an annoyed grunt, Seth grabbed his drink and stood.

"I'm gonna go see if the food's ready."

He walked right past Ryan and the spirit and went into the house. Ryan watched him go by. He wanted to reach out, to comfort Seth, to hold him, even though he knew any efforts to do so would be futile.

Spirit Taylor's PDA went off again.

"We need to get going, Ryan," she said.

Ryan nodded, and took hold of the spirit's robe. Once more, they were instantaneously transported away. They were back in Ryan's neighborhood, only now it was night. Instead of arriving on the street itself, they were standing in a nearby alley. Huddled against a wall was the same dirty boy from Ryan's apartment building. He was still shivering, more violently than before. Ryan was about to ask the spirit a question when a figure appeared in the opening of the alley.

It was a man, probably in his mid-forties, wearing a suit and trench coat. He had wire-framed glasses that reflected the street lights' glare. He approached the trembling boy and kneeled down.

"You all right, son?" the man asked. The boy looked up at him warily. "Why don't you come with me? We can get you something to eat, and get you warmed up." He placed a hand on the boy's leg, giving it a squeeze. "Maybe have a little fun?" He leered as his hand traveled up the boy's thigh. "Does that sound nice?"

After considering the offer for a minute, the boy nodded sadly. He took the man's hand and allowed himself to be led out of the alleyway.

"Where's he going?" Ryan asked, turning to Spirit Taylor. "He's not actually gonna go somewhere with that guy, is he?"

"Do you care?" she asked back. "Isn't he better off alone?"

Ryan stung at his own words being thrown back in his face. Before he could say anything in his defense, not that he had anything to say, the spirit's PDA chimed again.

"I have to go soon," she said, checking the gilded machine's screen.

"You're leaving?"

"Something like that," she replied. She waved at her hair, which Ryan only just noticed had turned gray. "My time on this world is very short. It ends tonight."

"Oh," Ryan said, for lack of anything else to say to her.

"One last thing before I go," Spirit Taylor said.

Then she reached into the folds of her robe. When she withdrew her hands, she held in each a black stone the size of her fist. Coal. Etched into each of these stones was a word; in Taylor's right hand, _IGNORANCE_, and in the left, _FEAR_.

"A final present from the Ghost of Christmas Present."

She held them out to Ryan. He took them. They were deceptively heavy for their size. Oddly, although the lumps of coal were roughly the same size, he found the one that said IGNORANCE to be at least five times heavier than the other.

"I don't understand," Ryan said, grunting under the effort to hold the stones up.

"Don't you?" the spirit asked. "These are the things that feed the flames of your self-hatred: Ignorance and Fear."

"What are you talking about?"

"You don't understand the homosexual side of yourself," she explained. "That's ignorance. And because you don't understand it, you're afraid. Fear leads to anger," Spirit Taylor said wisely. "And anger leads to hate."

"And hate leads to the Dark Side, right?" Ryan snarked. "I've heard it before, Taylor. You sound like Seth."

"You shouldn't mock, Ryan," Spirit Taylor warned. "I may be paraphrasing from Star Wars, but the message is true. You're so afraid of what might happen if you admit the truth. And slowly that fear has turned into a violent self-hatred."

"You're wrong," Ryan argued. "I'm perfectly happy with who I am."

Spirit Taylor smirked. "Whatever you say, Ryan, whatever you say. But remember this," she said, her face turning grim. She pointed at the chunks of coal. "Beware these both, and all they stand for, but most of all beware Ignorance, for on this stone I see written your doom."

Then she smiled cheerfully, and gave him a tiny wave.

"Tootles!"

And with that, she turned, and disappeared into the night. Leaving Ryan alone in the empty alleyway.

"That's fine!" he shouted after her. "I'll just wait here for the next spirit. Thanks!"

He looked around, but there was no sign of any sort of apparition anywhere.

"With the luck I'm having, the next ghost will probably look like Oliver," Ryan muttered to himself.

A chill passed through him. A shadow fell across the alley. There was someone standing behind Ryan. He turned to find out who it was. A figure was standing at the mouth of the alleyway. It moved closer, towering over the gawk man.

Ryan looked up and beheld the final spirit.

**END NOTES:** Any guesses as to who the final spirit will take the form of?  
Also, so that there's no confusion, the man who calls the boy "son" is not his father, but a supercreepy!pedophile. Yeah, I went there.  
Now, on to the last ghost!-kevo


	4. The Yet to Come

**Title:** The Chrismukkah Carol  
**Author:** kevo  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing related to The O.C. and its characters, or A Christmas Carol and its themes. And I'd be very happy if they didn't sue me, because I don't have much to take. This fic is strictly for non-profit enjoyment.  
**Pairing:** Seth/Ryan  
**Rating:** PG-13. Ish. For language, some adult themes.  
**Spoilers:** Only up to the end of Season Three.  
**Summary:** Ryan has gone down a dark path; can a Chrismukkah miracle help him get his life back on track?  
**Warnings:** AU after 3x25 "The Graduates", some physical abuse, drug and alcohol abuse, teenaged prostitution, a gay bashing and speculated future character deaths. So pretty much fun times!  
**Author's Note:** This time I was distracted by lots and lots of gayness on YouTube. Seriously, look into it. Thanks again to D'Arcy, who is kind enough to take time out of her chaos to help me with this fic. That's love right there. 

The Chrismukkah Carol

First Verse - The Ghost

Second Verse - The Past

Third Verse - The Present

- Fourth Verse -

–

"The Yet to Come"

--- 

**T**he spirit approached, slowly, gravely. He loomed over Ryan. His skin was pale, almost blue. He appeared as dead as Marissa's ghost without any of the beauty. He wore a long, black robe that reminded Ryan of Death. The spirit's visage was, like the others, someone familiar from his past. This time, the spirit appeared as someone Ryan hadn't seen in a very long while. Someone he'd hoped never to see again.

Ryan's brother, Trey.

Only Spirit Trey was very unlike the real one. There was no spark of life in his face like the kind Ryan remembered from his brother. Instead, there was an aura of coldness, of darkness, all around him that filled Ryan with dread. It made him want to sink to his knees in terror, but he held strong. The spirit's gaze was slack, his eyes vacant. They bore into Ryan, as though they could see straight through him.

"You must be the last of them," Ryan said. "Are you here to show me my future?"

The spirit said nothing.

"I think I've been afraid of meeting you most of all," Ryan admitted. "But I know you're here to do me good. So for that I'm prepared to go with you, and do it gladly."

Again, the spirit said nothing.

"You don't talk?" Ryan asked. Spirit Trey continued to stare at him, making no indication that he heard anything Ryan was saying. Ryan swallowed uncomfortably. "Okay. We'll work around it then."

Spirit Trey pointed straight ahead, toward the other end of the alley. Behind a dumpster were two men, or rather a teenager and a man. The teen was on his knees. The man groaned. Ryan was about to look away when he recognized the teenager's thick woolen hat, covering his dirty blond hair.

It was the same homeless boy from his apartment building, the one he'd just seen being led out of the same alley by a creepy middle-aged man with the Ghost of Christmas Present. This man was younger, closer to Ryan's age. He wondered why a guy him like the would have to resort to getting sucked off by a…

Comprehension dawned on Ryan as he realized what he was seeing. His heart ached when he realized that this was where the boy's life had led him, to turning tricks in a dark alley. He wished more than ever that he'd done something, anything, to help him.

The man finished with a grunt, then tucked himself in and zipped up while the teen cleaned himself up.

"That's, uh, that'll be twenty bucks," the boy said. His voice is raspier the last time Ryan heard it.

The man smirked. "You really think I'm gonna pay you for that, faggot?"

The boy's face clouded over with fear. Like he knew what was coming next. He knew the man was going to punch him, which he did. And he knew the man would kick him to the ground, which he also did. He knew the man would beat him, hard, over and over, screaming things like "fag" and "queer", ignoring the sounds of his foot colliding with soft flesh, or the snap as he cracked one of the boy's ribs. When he was finally satisfied with the damage he'd done, he spit on the boy's broken body. As the boy coughed, choking on his own blood, the man sauntered out of the alley.

"This doesn't have to happen though, right?" Ryan asked, turning to the spirit. "I can still change this. I can fix this. Right?"

Spirit Trey had no comfort for him. He led Ryan back out of the alley, leaving the boy still sputtering behind them. They walked a short distance down the street until they came upon a group of people Ryan recognized; they were his coworkers from the Newport Group.

"No, I don't know how it happened either," one was saying. "I only know that he's dead."

"But when did it happen?" another asked.

"Last night," replied the first.

"Only last night?" asked a third. "I wonder who found him. I'd have figured it would be weeks before he was missed."

"I dunno," the second man said, taking out a cigarette. "Does anyone know how it happened?"

"That dick?" the first man scoffed. "There's probably a line around the block of people who'd wanna do him off."

"Did you hear we have to go to the fucking funeral today?"

"I'm not going to that shit, man," the third grumbled. "It's Christmas."

"You know the Ice Bitch will go ballistic if everyone doesn't show up," the first man said. "If she didn't order the whole company to go, I doubt there'd be any mourners there."

"You got that right," the second said through a puff of smoke. "Hey, maybe if we look sad enough she'll give us his office."

They all laughed at that, and continued down the sidewalk. Ryan turned to the spirit.

"I don't understand," he said. "I know those guys, I work with them, but who are they talking about? Who died?"

Violently, Spirit Trey reached out and whirled Ryan around. They were no longer on the street, but in the Cohen house. The effect was dizzying, even more than when he would be transported by the Ghost of Christmas Past. Ryan clutched the island counter to steady himself.

On the other side of the counter was Kirsten. In her hand was a glass of wine. Sandy walked in. He looked at her, and she looked at him. Then she calmly raised the glass to her lips and drank. Sandy only shook his head.

"No, no," Ryan stammered. "Kirsten's been doing good. She hasn't touched alcohol in years. She… she wouldn't start drinking. And Sandy certainly wouldn't let her!"

But it seemed that he was wrong. Sandy said nothing, and the glass was empty in under a minute.

"We have to get going soon," Sandy said. "I've ordered a car. Seth said he and Chris would meet us there." Then, more hesitantly, he said, "After all this is over, I really think we should talk. About … about us."

"What's there to talk about, Sandy?" Kirsten said finally. "We're finished here. Let's just get through today and then we can both move on."

They stared at each other, not speaking, not moving. There was none of the love between them that Ryan remembered. Only contempt.

"No," Ryan said. "No, this can't be. This is wrong." He looked at Spirit Trey, who was taking in the scene in his own detached way. "Kirsten's a bitch, Sandy's all mousy. This would never happen. You're wrong."

He turned to look back at Sandy and Kirsten, but as soon as he did, they were gone. The whole house was gone. There were in a well-manicured, obscenely sunny graveyard. There was a slightly chill in the air despite the pouring sunlight. At a distance, there was a small mass of people gathered around one grave in particular. Ryan saw Sandy and Kirsten there. Kirsten was wearing sunglasses. There was a full foot of space between them.

"I still don't understand," Ryan said, his voice on the verge of shaking. "Who died? Is it Seth?" He advanced upon the spirit, getting right up in his face. "Tell me it's not. **Please.** Tell me Seth is all right. Tell me—"

Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan caught sight of a tall, curly haired man in a suit.

"Seth," Ryan breathed. "He's all right. Thank God."

Then Ryan saw his companion. It was Chris. He was a little ways away from Seth, talking to a man Ryan remembered seeing around the office, who only recently started at the company. Ryan knew this had nothing to do with the reason he couldn't recall the man's name, and wondered if it was only because of the spirits' influence that he wasn't trying to lie to himself about it.

Chris was leaning uncomfortably close to this man. Seth, noticing this, scowled and approached them.

"Hey, buddy," Seth said to the flirtatious Newport Group worker. "The funeral's over there, why don't you head on over, all right?"

The man blushed, probably realizing who Seth was, and who Chris was, and hurried off.

"God, Chris," Seth spat, "it's a fucking funeral, could you maybe **not** hit on my mom's coworkers?"

Chris grabbed Seth's arm and yanked him closer.

"Who the fuck are you, tryin'a tell me what to do?" he asked, gripping Seth so tightly his knuckles were white. "Huh? What the fuck are you gonna do about it?"

"All right, I'm sorry," Seth stammered weakly. "Please, let go. Don't do this, not here."

With a satisfied smirk, Chris shoved Seth away hastily.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he growled. He eyed Seth disdainfully. "You're not even worth it." He turned on his heels and stormed off.

"Where are you going?" Seth called after him.

"I don't need this shit," Chris called over his shoulder, not bothering to look back as he answered. "I'll be in the car."

All alone, Seth's face crumpled. His chest heaved, as though he was about to cry, but no tears came. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny pill bottle. He was too far off for Ryan to read the label, but it definitely wasn't aspirin.

Seth popped the top and tilted the small bottle. One pill came out. He tapped it on palm of his hand. Another came out. Two more. Then five. Finally satisfied, Seth shoved them into his mouth and swallowed them all dry.

"Whoa," Ryan said as he watched Seth guzzle the pills down. "Whoa, that can't be safe, can it?" He turned to Spirit Trey. "This isn't, like, serious, is it? He'll figure out the guy's a jerk, give up the pills…. He's gonna be all right, right?"

Spirit Trey didn't answer verbally. Instead, in the first sign of emotion Ryan had seen on his face since the two were introduced, the Spirit smirked. It was mocking and shark-like, so similar to the real Trey it was eerie. The Spirit saw something in Seth's future, Ryan knew. It was written there on Spirit Trey's face: no, Seth wouldn't be all right.

Ryan was infuriated. Smirking at the thought of Seth's inevitable downward spiral, it was disgusting.

"You insensitive prick," Ryan snarled. "You think this is funny? Do you get off on seeing people's lives destroyed? Huh?"

The Spirit said nothing, only stared at Ryan with dead eyes and a frozen, ominous smirk.

"ANSWER ME!" Ryan screamed, rage boiling over.

Impulsively, Ryan swung at the Spirit, striking him in the face. But the Spirit didn't budge. Instead it was Ryan who cried out in pain. Spirit Trey was solid as a rock, and just as hard. His face showed no pain from having been struck, no anger, no sign that he even noticed the blow.

Slowly the sting in Ryan's arm ebbed. The Spirit led them away.

Toward the funeral.

Ryan looked around at the so-called mourners. There were no tears. The only emotion he saw on anyone's face was apathy, or else boredom. Even from Sandy, Kirsten, and Seth. When the priest was done speaking, everyone cleared out fast. No one offered their condolences to the family, and the family didn't wait around to receive any. Kirsten stumbled on the way back to the car. Sandy didn't attempt to catch her.

With everyone gone, Ryan approached the grave. He knew what he would find there. Whose name. He tried to fool himself, to believe otherwise, but there was no more hiding. He crouched beside the headstone.

There it was, carved neatly into the stone, gleaming slightly in the sunlight:

RYAN ATWOOD

Only his name, that was all. No "Beloved Son" or "Kind Friend" or any sort of warm epitaph. Nothing to mark his time other than his name. His family was dissolving, and it was all his fault.

"You scared yet, baby brother?"

Ryan spun around wildly to find Spirit Trey looming a few feet away. He was still as gaunt and terrifying as ever, only now there was a faint glimmer of recognition in his black, hollow eyes.

"Now you talk?" Ryan hollered, rising to his feet. "**NOW** you talk!?"

He shoved at the spirit, but again the spirit stood as firmly rooted as a tree. With lightning-quick reflexes, Spirit Trey's arm swung up. He reached out and pushed lightly on Ryan's chest. The blow hit Ryan with the force of a truck. He flew backwards to the ground, hitting hard against his potential tombstone.

Spirit Trey stepped forward, standing menacingly over the fallen man.

"What did you expect, Ryan?" he spat venomously. "That everything would be all sunshine and lollipops? After the life you've led? Look at all the people you've hurt or ignored or simply abandoned. You're no better than Dad."

"I AM **NOT** MY FATHER!" Ryan shrieked. The words tore out of him with unholy rage. Tears streaked down his face.

"No, you're worse," the spirit continued. "Because at least Dad didn't die alone. What do you think Marissa was trying to warn you against? You've done everything in your power to cut everyone who's ever loved you out of your life. Well, congratulations, Ryan. You got what you wanted: you're all alone. In life, in death, and beyond."

"This isn't what I wanted," Ryan whispered pitifully.

Taking another step toward the sobbing man on the ground, Spirit Trey leaned in, so close that his ghastly face was less than a foot from Ryan's, and asked:

"Isn't it?"

Ryan trembled. And began to cry.

The spirit was right. They all were. He'd run away from the past, ignored the ones he loved in the present, along with his own feelings. The truth about himself. The truth he could only now admit, after seeing the consequences of his lying.

"I'm gay," he said in a voice barely louder than the wind. Then, louder, in a full, booming voice. "I'm gay!" He sniffled. "I'm gay and I love Seth Cohen."

And nothing happened.

The world didn't crumble, the sky didn't fall. No one descended upon him with torches and pitchforks. No angry mob appeared to stone him. The sun was still shining. In the distance, a bird chirped. A smile spread across his face. Ryan whirled around, facing Spirit Trey.

"Spirit, I see now," Ryan said. "I've seen the results of my actions, and I'm ready to make amends. I will take the lessons you and the other spirits have taught me with me every day from now on. Please, take me back, let me right these wrongs. I want to change. I **need** to change."

Suddenly Ryan noticed he couldn't feel his legs. There was a dry coldness creeping slowly through him. His eyesight had also blurred slightly. Ryan felt bleak, and utterly, utterly alone.

This was what Marissa was warning him of. This is what Spirit Trey meant when he said life, death, and beyond. There would be no beyond for Ryan. When he died, this was all there would be: no heaven, no hell. He would be alone, for all of eternity.

Ryan clutched at the spirit's shirt, begged, pleaded, sobbed, but Spirit Trey did nothing but sneer. The coldness spread up the rest of Ryan's body. His vision shadowed over with black as he sank deeper and deeper into nothing.

**END NOTES:** Don't worry, it's not over yet!  
This one is extremely short, but I didn't really know where else to go with it. I covered all the extremely depressing bases here.  
Now, on to the finale!-kevo


	5. The Salvation

**Title:** The Chrismukkah Carol  
**Author:** kevo  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing related to The O.C. and its characters, or A Christmas Carol and its themes. And I'd be very happy if they didn't sue me, because I don't have much to take. This fic is strictly for non-profit enjoyment.  
**Pairing:** Seth/Ryan  
**Rating:** PG-13. Ish. For language, some adult themes.  
**Spoilers:** Only up to the end of Season Three.  
**Summary:** Ryan has gone down a dark path; can a Chrismukkah miracle help him get his life back on track?  
**Warnings:** AU after 3x25 "The Graduates" – other than that, this only has happy things, I swear!  
**Author's Note:** This is the final part, everyone! I hope you've enjoyed this Dickensian twist on Newport Beach and our favorite not-quite-brotherly boys. Merry Chrismukkah, you all! And a slashy new year! 

The Chrismukkah Carol

- Fifth Verse -

–

"The Salvation"

--- 

**S**uddenly, the darkness cleared.

Ryan looked around his sun-soaked bedroom. There was no tree, no foliage, no fireplace. His bed was once again his bed, no longer a rickety table loaded with food. His bed was his bed, and he was lying in the middle of it, still wearing his dress shirt and pants from the night before. He sat up quickly and his head throbbed in pain.

_At least the vodka was real,_ he thought grimly.

Rubbing the back of his head, he wondered if the rest of the night was real, as well. He went over it all in his mind; Marissa, his voyage through the past, stopping in on his loved ones in the present, and seeing what could become of them in the future. It all felt so real, more real than anything he'd felt in years. Since before he broke up with Seth.

"**Seth**."

The compulsion to say his name aloud was so overwhelming that he gave in to it. It made his heart flutter, and put a very large smile on his face.

His smile evaporated when the rest of the details of his night came back to him. Seth's abusive boyfriend, the possible dissolution of Sandy and Kirsten's marriage … and the homeless boy whose sad, unfortunate future he had seen.

Ryan sat up quickly, and then regretted it just as quick when his stomach rolled over.

He needed to set things right. With his family, with Seth, with everyone. And after a quick shower to wash the feeling of ghosts away, he would start with the boy he hoped was still lying in his building's entrance hall.

CCCCCCC

Stepping off the elevator, Ryan surveyed the lobby. He found the kid lying in a corner, curled up next to a potted plant. He was probably trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Ryan was suddenly very thankful for Otis's soft-heartedness. Steadily, so as not to wake him too abruptly, Ryan approached the huddled boy. When he finally reached him, he tapped the boy's shoulder.

"Hey," he whispered.

The boy stirred. Not too hurriedly, Ryan observed. He gathered the kid hadn't been living on the streets too long, and wasn't used to the dangers it can bring. He'd be showing a lot more vigilance if he was.

"Morning," Ryan said affably. "Did you sleep here?"

Now the boy jerked into a sitting position, fully alert. Maybe Ryan had underestimated him.

"Uhm, uhm," the kid muttered, eyes darting about wildly. "Yeah, I, uh, I musta fallen sleep while I was, er, waiting for my mom. To pick me up." He sprang to his feet. "I should probably go. Call her. Or something. See ya."

He made a dash for the exit, but Ryan was faster. He headed the boy off and got to the door first, blocking his escape.

"You told me yesterday you were waiting for your dad," Ryan reminded him. "I know you're lying."

The boy turned pale. His eyes widened, then filled with tears.

"I'm s-s-sorry, really," he stuttered. "I d-didn't mean to do anything w-wrong. P-please d-d-don't hurt me."

"Whoa, whoa!" Ryan cut in, holding up his open hands up in a peaceable gesture. "Take it easy, uh…." For the first time, Ryan realized he didn't even know this kid's name. So he asked, "What's your name?"

"Johnny," the boy replied.

Some part of Ryan knew he shouldn't have been surprised by this information, but he was. In a way, it was almost further proof that Marissa had some hand in their meeting. He'd failed to save one Johnny in the past. Maybe helping this one would be the key to his future.

"That's a cool name," Ryan told him. "Like Johnny Storm from the Fantastic Four."

The boy's face lit up at that. "Yeah," he agreed. "He was the coolest one."

"I preferred The Thing myself," Ryan confessed. He held out his hand. "My name's Ryan."

Johnny took Ryan's hand and shook it firmly. He had a good grip for such a young kid.

"So why were you really sleeping here, Johnny?" Ryan asked.

Timidly, Johnny glued his eyes to the floor as he answered, "My dad kicked me out a couple weeks ago."

"That's terrible," Ryan said. "Why would he want to get rid of a cool kid like you?"

"I did something bad."

The words came out deadpanned, but Ryan could sense the slight tremble in Johnny's voice.

"What did you do?" Ryan urged him.

It was clear that Johnny didn't want to give him any more details, but Ryan wouldn't let this go. He looked at Johnny with genuine interest, and, taking a deep breath, the boy continued.

"I tried to kiss my friend, and," Johnny paused, the finished quickly, "and he told my dad on me." He stopped to gauge Ryan's reaction. Ryan tried to keep his expression neutral. Again, he wasn't completely stunned by this revelation, and sadly could sense where it was going. "My dad, he – he said he didn't want a queer like me for a son. So he beat me up and made me leave."

The shameful look on the boy's face broke Ryan's heart. That did it. Ryan was never more certain that he had to help this boy. He could not, would not, let this kid slip through the cracks.

"Then your dad is a fool," Ryan said firmly. "Johnny, I –" Ryan took a deep breath of his own, and said, "I like to kiss boys, too. There's nothing wrong with it."

And all of a sudden, Ryan believed it. There was nothing wrong with this small, fragile boy, and there was nothing wrong with him. Ryan was gay, and it wasn't terrible.

"Johnny," Ryan said, "how would you like to come with me? I could give you something to eat, maybe get you cleaned up."  
Johnny stated at him suspiciously.

"Is this because you like to kiss boys?"

Ryan laughed, but took the question seriously, replying, "No, I like to kiss boys my own age. I just want to help you."

This didn't seem to convince Johnny. Ryan wanted to roll his eyes at his uncertainty, after he'd just seen the boy walk off willingly with a clear pedophile, but he restrained himself. Struck by a sudden burst of inspiration, Ryan reached into his pocket and produced his cell phone. He held it out for Johnny.

"Here," he said. "Take it. That way if you feel scared or anything, you can call the cops on me." He grinned. "As long as you don't go calling China or anything. Deal?"

Johnny hesitated for a minute, looking first at the phone, then at Ryan, then the phone again.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" he asked skeptically.

"A long time ago," Ryan told him, "I was in a position just like you are now. My mom kicked me out. I was alone. And a very nice man took me in. He gave me a place to stay. Took care of me when I thought I had no one. The point is, things could have gone the other way for me. A kid in your position, if he's not careful, can end up in a bad way. And I'd hate for that to happen to you."

For a minute, neither of them moved. Johnny stood, taking in Ryan's story, and Ryan waited for him to make a move.

Finally, Johnny took the phone.

CCCCCCC

Two showers and five peanut butter sandwiches washed down with water later (a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread being the only food in Ryan's apartment, and two bottles of vodka being the only drink), Ryan wondered what they should do next. He had finished all the bread that was still edible, and was still hungry. It turned out he was ten, not eight like Ryan had believed, and was definitely in the stage of his life where he would consume food like a vacuum. It must have been that much worse for him on the streets. A boy on the edge of puberty can be hungry enough without having such long spans between meals.

Johnny decided to take another shower, to make up for weeks of going without, leaving Ryan to decide what he would do with him. He knew he would have to bring the kid to social services at some point. That wouldn't be the end; Ryan swore to himself that he would make sure Johnny was okay. But he didn't want to start all that today. It was Christmas. And, to be honest, he wasn't ready to give the kid up yet.

After Johnny began trusting Ryan more, he began talking. He talked about school, and that he loved reading and math. He talked about his mom, and how she died two years ago. He showed Ryan his rocking horse ornament, the one his mom gave him before she died, which he used to keep in his room because his dad stopped getting a tree when his mom died. It was clear to Ryan that the boy hadn't had a happy day, much less a happy Christmas, in about as long as he, Ryan, did himself. And he was determined to fix that.

For lack of anything better to do, Ryan tidied up the apartment a bit while Johnny was in the bathroom. He picked up his briefcase, still in its discarded position near the door. The red envelope Kirsten had given him at work had fallen out. He ripped it open.

It was a Chrismukkah card. **The** Chrismukkah card, the same one he had taken off his refrigerator the night before. Sandy had his arms around Kirsten. Seth and Ryan were seated next to one another, their legs just barely touching. Ryan opened it and read what was inside.

_Ryan -_

To the boy who made us glad to have an open-door policy on the Cohen household. Please try and remember that policy will always stand.

All our love,  
Sandy and Kirsten

He closed the card and smiled. Ryan knew exactly where he needed to go next. He and Johnny both.

CCCCCCC

It took very little convincing for Ryan to get Johnny into the car with him. He told him where they were going, and Johnny was eager to meet whoever could turn Ryan into such a Good Samaritan. It made Ryan a little uneasy that Johnny was so willing to go along with whatever he said and even more thankful that he found this boy before someone else could use his lack of caution to their advantage.

There was no mystery music on this car ride, except for when Johnny somehow accessed a Spanish news station.

They reached the Cohen house in record time.

As they approached the front door, Ryan felt himself seize up with fear. If Johnny hadn't taken his hand and led him up the few stairs to the entrance, he might never have made it on his own. Before he could hesitate, Ryan rang the bell. And waited.

Surprisingly, the door was answered by Summer.

"Atwood," she said dispassionately, leaning against the door. "What are you doing here?"

"I used to live here, Summer," he replied, not liking her tone.

Then he remembered his promise to Marissa. Without asking permission, without an explanation, he stepped forward and hugged summer. She struggled at first, then allowed it, and returned it with unexpected warmth.

When he pulled away, she asked, "What was that for?"

"I was supposed to hug you," was all Ryan said in response. Before she could comment on how weird he was being, which he could see was coming from the look on her face, he asked, "Is Seth here?"

A whole range of expressions crossed Summer's face. First she looked shocked that he would even asked. Then she looked unsure as to whether or not she could trust his motives. And lastly she looked devious as she realized this would play into her own plans to keep Seth away from Chris perfectly. She stepped back and held the door open. Ryan stepped into the house, followed by Johnny.

"Who's the kid?" she asked him.

"This is Johnny," Ryan said, presenting his young guest. "Johnny, this is Summer. She's a fr–"

"Sum, come on!" someone shouted from the other room. "You know I hate leaving the DVDs on pause, it can ruin the disc!"

It's Seth.

Ryan swallowed against a hard lump in his throat. It's really him, not some vision of the past or the present, but the real, live, flesh-and-blood Seth in the next room. Footsteps draw near, and he's not in the next room any longer, but right there, staring at Ryan, in shock, Summer, in anger, and Johnny, in confusion.

"What's going on?" he asked with barely contained derision.

"Summer, can you give us a minute?" Ryan requested. "Show Johnny to the kitchen, and get him something to eat. Please."

"Sure," Summer consented. She looked at Johnny and bobbed her head toward the kitchen. "It's this'a'way, little man. Let's give these two a moment they **sorely** need."

They trail out of the living room and are gone. Only Seth and Ryan were left. In the same room together for the first time in almost two years.

"Who's the kid?" Seth asked.

"He's been living on the street," Ryan admitted right away. "He slept in the lobby of my building last night. I couldn't let him stay all alone."

Seth nodded. A long time passed before anyone said anything. Then, predictably, Seth spoke first.

"What are you doing here, man?"

He doesn't sound angry, or upset, or even sad. He sounds tired. And confused. And maybe still a little wounded. And Ryan didn't blame him.

"I came here to see you," he said.

"Look, Ryan, I—"

"No, please," Ryan interrupted. "Please, just listen. Me not saying how I felt is what got us in this situation in the first place, so just hear me out, okay?" Seth didn't say anything else. So Ryan went on.

"I was stupid," he said. "I know that doesn't justify anything I said or did or didn't say or didn't do. But it's the truth. I've been so afraid of doing something, anything, that would bring the life I've built for myself crashing down. I thought that – that being gay, and being out, would do that. But what I've come to realize is that no life that I've built is worth anything if you're not in it. You're the only person who really knows me, who really understands me. I think you'd understand me if I couldn't speak. And that used to scare me. Because, I don't know, maybe I didn't think I was worth all of your energy."

"You are," Seth mumbled.

"It doesn't matter," Ryan told him. "It doesn't matter why you do it, why you try so hard with me. What matters is that I want to do the same for you. I want to do everything for you, to be everything for you."

"It's not that simple, Ryan," Seth said. "There's someone else I've been seeing, and he just—"

"Forget him," Ryan replied angrily. "He's not a good guy, Seth."

"You don't even know him," Seth shouted.

"I know more than you think," Ryan shouted back. "He's not good enough for you. And maybe I'm not either. But I am devoted, utterly devoted, to doing whatever I have to to **be** good enough for you. I want to walk down the street holding hands with you, Seth. I want to dance with you at the Newport Group Christmas party. I want to lean over and kiss you in a restaurant full of people.

"Letting you walk away from me two years ago was the worst mistake I have ever made. And I will do anything, **anything**, that I have to for you to take me back. Just tell me what I have to do."

For at least two minutes, Seth didn't say anything. He didn't even look at Ryan, he just stood there with his hands in his pockets staring at the ground. Then he took a few steps forward, closing the gap between them, and looked into Ryan's eyes.

"You had me back as soon as you told me you were here to see me," Seth told him.

Ryan couldn't have stopped himself from kissing Seth at that moment if he tried. His arms were around Seth, hands in his hair, one leg positioned slightly between Seth's legs, and the embrace was so familiar, and had been so missed, that it was more like coming home than entering the Cohen home had been.

"Well, this is a surprise," said a voice from the door.

The men broke apart to see who had spoken.

It was Sandy, who had just entered the front door holding a bag of Chinese takeout, followed closely by Kirsten. They took in the sight of their boys, the estranged lovers, wrapped in each other, looking very much in love.

"So you two…?" Sandy asked.

They both nodded. This time, Ryan tried to speak first.

"Look, Sandy –"

"Not so fast," Sandy said, stern-faced. "When I'm **your** parent, and you're my adopted son, you can call me Sandy. When I'm **Seth's** parent, and you're his boyfriend, that's Mr. Cohen to you."

"How am I going to know when you're acting as my parent and when you're acting as Seth's?" Ryan asked, confused.

Sandy placed a gentle hand on Ryan's shoulder. "Kid," he said, "you'll just have to know." Then his face broke into a wide grin and he pulled Ryan into a long-overdue hug, saying warmly, "Welcome home."

After a split second's hesitation, Ryan returned the hug in kind, overjoyed to be welcomed home even after everything. Kirsten's hug came next, just as warm as Sandy's.

"If I had a nickel for every time I walked into a room and found you boys kissing," she said.

"A nickel for a Nichol," Seth mused. "Like you really need the pocket change, Mom."

Grasping Seth's hand, Ryan led the way into the kitchen. Sitting at the island counter were Summer and Johnny. Johnny was munching on a rather large sandwich.

"Who's this?" Kirsten asked.

"This is my friend Johnny," Ryan explained, patting the boy on the back. He looked at Sandy and Kirsten. "I was kind of hoping that open-door policy would still apply."

"Of course," Sandy grinned. "You know how I feel about strays." He turned to Johnny and asked, "How do you feel about Chinese food, young man?"

Johnny shrugged. "I've never had it."

"Oh, this boy came to us just in time," Sandy said with glee. "Why don't you come help me and Kirsten set the table and I'll introduce you to the wonders of Chinese cuisine."

Johnny turned to Ryan and whispered, "Is this the guy you told me about?"

Ryan nodded.

"Okay then," Johnny said, hopping off his stool.

That left Seth, Summer, and Ryan at the counter. Summer was engrossed in mixing herself a drink. Seth and Ryan were mostly engrossed in each other. Seeing a Christmas present so similar to the one he'd already witnessed, there was something Ryan couldn't help wondering.

"Have you guys heard from Taylor?" Ryan asked, trying to sound casual.

"I think she's doing the Euro Christmas thing this year," Summer answered, not taking her eyes off of her meticulous pouring. "She usually disappears on us for the holidays. I guess Chrismukkah isn't her style." Once finished with her mixing, she looked up at Ryan suspiciously. "Why?"

"No reason," he told her. Then, realizing that it's physically impossible to keep something from Summer for very long, he said, "It's just … I had this dream, sort of, and she was kinda in it."

"Ew, Chino," Summer moaned, setting down her glass in disgust. "That's gross."

"Yeah, Ryan," Seth agreed, "that's a little kinky, even for a guy who used to wear a mancuff."

"Not that kind of dream," Ryan muttered defensively. He wrapped an arm around Seth's waist and added, "There's only one person I have those kinds of dreams about."

"You have mancuff dreams about me?" Seth asked, leaning into Ryan. "That's so sweet."

"I never said it was you," Ryan replied with a convincing air of indifference. Convincing, that is, until Seth began to tickle him mercilessly, forcing Ryan to admit, between panting breaths, "Okay, okay, it was you, it was you."

"Ugh, you two are too cute," Summer grumbled. "I need a man."

"And what are we?" Seth demanded.

"I need a **straight** man, Cohen," Summer elaborated. "I'm sick of being surrounded by you homos!"

"Aw, and just imagine how we homos feel about you," Ryan countered with a charming smile.

Summer scowled at him. "I think I liked you better when you were in the closet," she grumbled. Then she hopped off her stool and carried the drink she'd been preparing over to the table.

Settling into Ryan's chest, Seth wrapped the larger man's arms even tighter around him. He nuzzled Ryan's neck tenderly.

"You said 'we homos'," Seth murmured.

"I know," Ryan said.

"You're a big queer," Seth told him gleefully. Ryan could feel Seth's mouth form a grin against his neck.

"Well, I'd have to be queer to be in love with you," Ryan replied. "And I don't just mean gay."

"Speaking of **mean** gay," Seth whined. He attempted to untangle from their embrace but Ryan held fast. "If you think you're going to get Chrismukkah nookie with this attitude, you are sadly mistaken, mister."

"Is that right?" Ryan asked, flashing his sexiest grin.

Any more sexy talk was interrupted by Johnny dashing over to them, crashing into the couple.

"Guys, guys, come on, we're gonna eat," he said. "We're all waiting for you, let's go!"

Then just as quickly he was back at the table. Seth and Ryan watched him go amusedly.

"It looks like you've picked yourself up a handful there," Seth warned.

"He's worth it," Ryan said. "I can tell." He smiled. "You're a handful, and you're worth it."

"This is true," Seth concurred. He halted briefly, then asked, "You're really sure about all of this? Because, Ryan, if you're, not, I-"

Ryan pressed a finger to Seth's lips, halting any further protests.

"This is where I want to be," Ryan assured Seth. "Here, with you. Now and always." He rested his forehead against Seth's. "United we're unstoppable, right?"

Seth smiled happily, then leaned in for a loving Chrismukkah kiss.

CCCCCCC

Ryan was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more.

For a long while after that night, Seth was still unconfident about the stability of Ryan's sexuality. To be honest, so was Ryan. Every night when he went to bed, he worried that he'd wake up the next morning and panic like he did before. But every morning that he woke up with Seth snuggling close to him he felt nothing but joy and relief. In spite of his constant reassurances that Ryan would love him no matter what, he could still feel Seth's guardedness. Even now. It didn't bother Ryan much, though. Because he knew that was all about to change.

It was Christmas Eve again. Ryan was driving them to Sandy and Kirsten's house, with Seth fidgeting anxiously in the passenger seat. He's playing with the neck of his wooly Christmas sweater, trying to hide the hickey Ryan planted on him earlier. Not because he was worried that the parents will see it and disapprove, but because he was worried about them seeing it and reminiscing about their own tawdry sexual exploits. Out loud. In detail. Seth's brain tended to explode when his mom would give him tips on how to hide hickeys, or "love bites" as she calls them.

"This tie is choking me!" Johnny groaned from the back seat.

"You're the one who wanted to wear a tie!" Seth accused.

"Well, I didn't know you would tie it so tight," Johnny shot back.

"You can't take it off now, or else your head will fall off," Seth warned him.

"Seth, if he didn't fall for that at your parents' anniversary party, he's not going to fall for it now," Ryan said.

It was easier to get custody of Johnny than Ryan ever hoped. The boy's father really wanted nothing to do with him, and was glad to pawn off his parental rights. It took a long time to convince the boy that neither Ryan nor Seth would ever, ever do the same thing to him, but, like Seth, Johnny was coming around to the idea that love was unconditional.

The two loves of Ryan's life continued to banter back and forth. Normally Ryan would have joined in, but not tonight. Tonight he was distracted.

The bulge in his jacket pocket felt bulky and obvious, but he knew it wasn't. Even if it was, Seth would probably never notice. He hadn't so far, anyway. Which is good. That means Ryan still has the element of surprise.

Johnny noticed it. He didn't say anything. But he smiled, because he knew what Ryan was hiding. So did Summer, who was meeting them at the house. Ryan had told her a few weeks earlier. It was her idea to use a watch; something about how it was the perfect engagement ring for queers, a statement that Ryan decided to let pass without comment.

So a watch it was. Ryan even had it engraved. With the immortal words Seth had spoken to him on more than one occasion. The words that had pulled Ryan back from the brink when he needed to be pulled in the most. He took one hand off the wheel to pat his jacket pocket nervously, and thought about the engraving.

_United, We're Unstoppable._

He swallowed the lump in his throat. If all went as planned, the last Spirit's vision would never come to pass.

That is, if it truly had been a Spirit. On that, Ryan still wasn't entirely sure. Sometimes he felt like it was all just a very vivid dream, equally wonderful and horrible to remember. Other times, he thought it must have been real, because he swore he could feel Marissa watching over him.

Like now.

On an instinct that he's carried since that Christmas Eve years earlier, Ryan's gaze shifted to the rearview mirror, hoping he'll see her there looking back at him. Of course he didn't see her. He never did. The only thing he saw was his adopted son smiling knowingly at him.

But Ryan knew Marissa was there, too, smiling at him just as knowingly. Approving of what he was about to do. Approving of the family he had created. Ryan no longer had to fear the darkness she had warned him against. He no longer feared ending up along.

Breathing deeply, and smiling confidently, Ryan drove on.

Into the future.

the end

**END NOTES:** That's it, folks! I hope you all liked the ending. I know it's a little trite, but I just love the idea of Big Gay Ryan, and Big Gay Seth, with their Big Gay Son, and their Big Gay Impending Marriage.  
Anyway, thank you all so much for reading! I'm really proud of this fic. I feel like there are parts I could have improved on, but even so it's probably one of my favorite things I've ever written, and I'm so glad you could all share it with me.  
Merry Chrismukkah, everyone!-kevo


End file.
